


Kintsugi: The Clay

by Fantismal, writtenFIRES



Series: Kintsugi [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Brainwashing, Bruising, Codependency, Conditioning, Dark, Dehumanization, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ireland, Kidnapping, Long-Distance Relationship, Lots of Tea, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Bondage, Nudity, Objectification, Overprotective Parents, Psychological Torture, Rape, Recovery, Scars, Severe Abuse, Slow Burn, Smut, Tea, Torture, Trauma, Violence, Whump, and mugs, collaring, communication (both good and bad), garden scenes, graphic smut, long fic is long, no-distance relationship, non-con, non-con public humiliation, off-screen fictional animal abuse, panic/anxiety attacks, posessiveness, pretending we know medical stuff, questionable immigration practices, relationship, revolving title fic, short-distance relationship, tattoos/marks, the internet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 98
Words: 405,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9036209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantismal/pseuds/Fantismal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenFIRES/pseuds/writtenFIRES
Summary: Internet fame comes with its costs, but Mark thought he'd finally paid all his dues. When shipping becomes more than just a joke, he and Jack have to learn how much they can survive and how much they can recover.This is Mark's story.NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.





	1. The Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, this is a work of FICTION. We are both big supporters of Amyplier and Septishuu, however, for the sake of a Septiplier fantasy, we couldn't have the girls with the boys. In this story, Mark has never dated Amy, Jack and Signe broke up for a decent reason, and Tyler and Ethan have an apartment together.

You know how you lie in bed at night and can’t sleep, so you make up stories in your head? You take your favorite characters or favorite actors or favorite entertainers and put them through wild and crazy things? Or you participate in the stories yourself? You know how in those weird minutes between waking and sleeping, your inhibitions go out the window and your mind finds all the darkest corners it possibly can?

Yeah.

This is one of those stories. Written down and split in half, one story for each main character.

This is _not a nice story_. Please scroll back up and look at all those warnings. They are there for reasons. This story has graphic, horrific violence done to some of our favorite entertainers. It has extreme trauma. It even has death of a minor character. There is kidnapping and torture and humiliation and rape, and all kinds of mental mind-fuckery...and there is a long, _long_ road of coming to terms with everything that happened for these characters.

**This is not a nice story.**

But...but we hope it’s a _good_ story. We hope we’re true to the character of the men portrayed. We hope we can redeem ourselves in their recovery. And we hope you who read this and choose to continue on to the next chapter anyway find some dark enjoyment in what we’ve done.

Because we’re suckers for happy endings. And if any story deserves a happy ending, it’s this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fantismal and I have co-written a story, and then re-written it from two different POVs. Please check out the other Kintsugi at the same time. You will notice many things are alike, but many things are also different.
> 
> This is Mark's story.
> 
> (Art by the amazing [Eltrkbarbarella](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eltrkbarbarella/pseuds/Eltrkbarbarella)! There wouldn't be a story without her.)


	2. 1/19: Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare begins.

It started with Phan. Of course it did. All things shippy started with Phan.

It started at VidCon. Of course it did. What better way was there to hit the world of the internet than at the biggest video convention?

Phil went to the pool, but Dan stayed behind in their shared hotel room, resting a headache. When Phil returned, Dan was gone.

It took ninety days before Dan showed up again, ninety days of the internet imploding on itself, of Phil looking so lost, of fans screaming into the void.

Ninety days before Dan was dumped on his doorstep, bloody and broken, rushed to the hospital and announced alive and recovering.

Mark hadn’t sought out all the details, but he’d been keeping tabs on the main updates. The important ones. Mostly the ones posted by Phil. He’d been quick to offer condolences and any other assistance possible, but he just didn’t know the pair well enough to go digging in their business. Even if it had practically become _the world’s_ business. Even if he’d been there at VidCon; sitting around the poolside with Phil and Jack the night Dan was snatched.

From what he’d read and heard from friends, Dan was going to be okay. Mark hadn’t reached out to Phil personally, but Jack had, apparently, and filled him in on the details he’d been given. According to Jack, Phil claimed Dan had not just been kidnapped, but tortured. It was all a blur of a nightmare and he had no clue as to who the culprits might be or where they’d been holding him. It was a real miracle he was alive and healing - physically. Jack somberly conveyed that mentally and emotionally Dan was a mess. Mark could hardly blame the poor guy since just being kidnapped was pretty damn traumatizing. To get tortured on top of it and held for three months or so? Mark couldn’t even imagine it.

The whole ordeal sounded like the plot of a movie. It always felt as if horrifying events only ever happened to distant strangers until they finally struck too close to home. Dan wasn’t a close friend, but he _was_ a YouTuber. The community had been struck. None of their own had ever been the target of a kidnapping. None of the major YouTubers, so far as anyone knew, had been tortured. No one really knew what to take from the incident. If it was a random anomaly or something to create precautions for. They were all on-edge.

It also didn’t end there. Troye had been taken next; marked as a target because of Troyler. Mark knew those men even less than Dan and Phil, but they were still YouTubers. They were still _people._ The community, the fans, the _experts_ theorized and hypothesized on a possible connection. The M.O. was nearly the same as it had been for the Phan case. Kidnapped from a convention only to be dumped on Tyler’s doorstep three months later; broken and weak. The coincidence was terrifying.

Investigators didn’t see it as a coincidence. They felt confident enough to suspect a serial kidnapper. And suddenly, there was a real threat to the YouTube community.

That threat was never more real than the results of the third kidnapping. Hannah Hart, picked off like the others and suspected to be returned in ninety days. She was. Splayed open like a cadaver in the driveway of Grace Helbig for the poor woman to find. The media practically _exploded._

Perhaps that was the reason the website wasn’t found until the situation became so deadly. There was nothing fancy or contrived about it. Just a black web page with a single, red word printed in bold lettering: **HARTBIG**. Their ship name; with a green check beside it. Some people claimed it as a hoax or an attempt to sensationalize the story, so they went digging. Instead of uncovering a conspiracy, they discovered something spine-chilling. The page hadn’t always displayed HARTBIG. PHAN had been the first. According to the dates, the ship name had showed up the day before VidCon began. It was then adjusted with a green check the night Dan disappeared.

PHAN remained on the site until the day before ComicCon; where Troye was kidnapped. PHAN was changed to TROYLER and once Troye had vanished, the check returned. As if someone was maintaining a to-do list. The site was a major piece of evidence that gave investigators no further leads. Only predictions.

Personally, Mark refused to let the entire situation scare him. In his mind, it was pointless to get paranoid or hide away in his house. He took the same precautions with conventions as he always did, and continued doing what he loved. Performing at panels, meeting fans and making videos. Not to mention chilling in hotel rooms with friends normally states away or halfway around the world. He knew he was lucky. Most people didn’t get to meet up with their online friends so consistently. Especially ones from other _countries,_ oceans away, like Jack. Mark relished every opportunity and it was a real driving force behind his convention attendance.

Stretching out over one of the beds, Mark was trying to look up a hilarious YouTube video with little success. Bob and Mandy were being a sickeningly sweet couple on the couch while Wade worked his pun magic in an effort to cheer up everyone’s favorite Irish green bean.

Jack wasn’t taking the kidnappings quite so well. He was on-edge and nervous at their current convention. Mark’s heart went out to him; being in foreign lands and all. It was exactly the reason he needed to find that video. Anything to break up the subtle tension lingering in the room. All anyone could think about was what ships they were part of and if one of those ships would show up on the website next.

Mandy was safe unless they decided to attack her marriage with Bob. That was unlikely, though, since only “fictional” pairings had been targeted so far. Wade wasn’t really shipped with anyone present and Molly hadn’t joined him at this convention. Jack was fretting over Septiplier and Septicpie; and Mark, because for some god awful reason, Mark got shipped with _half_ the YouTube community. It probably didn’t help that he always hammed it up and acted like a total flirt. Mark was just an emotional guy with a tendency to be overtly affectionate; physically or otherwise. It was fun riling up his friends and fellow Let’s Players. Or better yet, the audience. Their fans. A sultry little quip here or a suggestive comment tossed out there could make waves for _days._

Mark wasn’t worried though. He refused to let the kidnappers get to him while he tried a different wording for his YouTube search. It didn’t matter how popular Septiplier was or how many people his fans imagined him screwing around with. Fiction was fiction and Mark wasn’t seeing _anyone. Nor_ was he really looking at the moment. He had his friends plus Chica, and right now he was getting to see _Jack,_ and that was plenty of companionship to satisfy him. Especially with Jack’s bubbly enthusiasm practically _glowing_ from his every pore. Mark swore Jack had to be running on pure sunshine.

Not that he’d ever admit that. Besides as a joke, maybe. It was a little gay. _Just a little._ And honestly, he didn’t feel that way about Jack, or any other guy. Definitely. _Definitely._ Any flirtatious or “come hither” vibes he sent Jack’s way were purely for show. He just enjoyed teasing their audiences. The same applied to every other ship he was part of. For some odd reason, Septiplier had simply been the biggest hit since Markimash. (Ah Yamimash, how Mark missed that British loser sometimes.)

“Here, _I'll_ do it.” Mandy leaned over to take the iPad from Mark. He huffed indignantly while she tapped out a url. “There, see?” Flipping the iPad around, Mandy showed that the name hadn’t changed. “No one's a target here.”

Jack laughed in relief to Mark’s left and he felt his agitation melt away. He supposed he could forgive Mandy for just caving to all the tension and erasing their fears ( _Jack’s_ in particular). Even if it resulted in her jacking his poor iPad. “That wasn't what I was trying to look up,” Mark grumbled, “Come on, give it back!”

Months later came PAX South and dozens of big name YouTubers flooded into the Lone Star state for a weekend. This time, Mark was relaxing before a big day in Felix’s hotel room with several different people. Jack was there again, but Mark’s mainstay trio was replaced by Ken, P.J. and some of Felix’s crew. Ken and Felix were busy tormenting- sorry, _“playing”-_ Mark with a balloon in some twisted game of monkey in the middle. Every time he missed they’d swat him on the head and make his hair go frizzy. He’d also been dealing with giggled taunts from P.J. throughout his labors and finally he had enough. With a growl Mark surprised the younger man by tackling him around the waist to send them both crashing into the couch- and Michael, who was stretched out across the cushions and laughing while he casually recorded the fray.

Brad snickered at his friend’s misfortune but worked to kick Mark off the poor man. “Aww, what, you nervous you might be a target, Jackie?” A quick glance towards one of the beds filled in the blanks for Mark; Jack had Felix’s laptop.

“Pff, as if!” Jack snorted. “Looking to see it saying Kickiplier!”

“He _wishes_ he could get a piece of dis ass,” Mark chirped from the floor.

“Oh please, everyone knows it's gonna be BroKen.” Ken walloped Mark across the head again with the balloon. Mark was prompted to retaliate the sequence of abuse when Jack made a choking sound across the room. Concerned, he tried to sit up with P.J. still flung across his lap.

“Jack?” Felix looked serious as he reached a hand toward Jack, a question on his face. “Jack, who is it?”

Still coughing, Jack eventually managed to turn the laptop around to show the otherwise-quiet room. There, in big red letters, across the black page, was the new target.

**SEPTIPLIER**

“This is bullshit!” Mark shoved P.J. off him, jumping to his feet. He could already feel the blood chilling in his veins, but still, his brain refused to accept what sat in front of him. “That can't be...it's not...we're not even a real ship!”

“Well, technically,” Ken began, but Mark snatched the balloon from him and swatted him in the face.

“You know what I mean! We're not, Jack and I aren't…!”

“You think any of them were?” Jack asked quietly. Mark wilted. Besides the plausibility of Phan being an item, the other two “ships” had been purely fictional. Without a doubt. Still one half of the ship had been picked off and left to the mercy of his or her captors. Reality didn’t mean anything to this sociopath. He’d picked his “theme” whether it was accurate or not and was apparently going to stick with it. The thought of just plucking up any unsuspecting person, regardless of personality or virtue or _anything_ but a joke, made Mark’s stomach twist with discomfort. It was terrifying. It didn’t matter how good or innocent a person was in their eyes. Mark found that sort of mindset chilling.

“I'm calling Revelmode,” Felix said quietly, pulling out his mobile. “Someone else get the front desk, get some security up here.”

“Oh, come _on_!” Still Mark protested. He didn’t want to believe it - he _couldn’t_ believe it. These things didn’t happen to him. To his _friends._ They only happened to _other people._ Strangers and acquaintances and… “We're not going to be kidnapped from a hotel room!”

“Dan was,” P.J. pointed out as Brad went for the room phone.

Mark shut his mouth, unable to deny it, yet he looked up, catching Jack's eyes to try and get a read on what he was feeling. The Irishman looked terrified and was doing a terrible job at hiding it. His mouth went dry. At the very least, Mark had to keep it together for Jack. He was the other half of Septiplier. “You...you don't wander off with sketchy strangers, okay?” He pointed a finger firmly at Jack.

Jack smiled weakly back. “As long as you don't go anywhere on your own. Deal?”

“Deal.”

PAX had been anticipating this. The Ship Sinker hadn’t been caught. Every major convention was a target. As soon as the name changed on the website, extra security was brought in, surrounding Mark and Jack. They laughed it off to their fans, pointing out their personal guards joining them for the panels, encouraging them to give the guards high-fives or hugs at the signings.

Mark absolutely _loathed_ it. He preferred his freedom and knew what precautions had to be taken without some hulking gorilla acting like his second shadow. It was akin to having an overgrown babysitter with a gun. A fan couldn’t offer Mark a hug without the lunk _glaring_ at them. Several were scared off before even reaching Mark and it burned him up on the inside. Mark had endeavored to make himself touchable. _Relatable._ Standing at the bottom of a pedestal to show his fans he was no different from them. That he knew they were there and he cared about them. Mark wanted his community to know one sick freak wasn’t going to scare him away or send him into hiding. This was the opposite of what he wanted. It was precisely what he’d been _avoiding_ all these months. There was no helping it, though. Mark could only let off steam by making faces at the stone statue of a man. He did his best to apologize to fans and put his foot down whenever the guard would attempt to tail him into the bathroom. The entire day he felt like an over-protected child.

It was just a guy or two kidnapping people. Mark could handle them. He wasn’t scared.

By the end of the first day, they were all exhausted, piling into a single booth at the hotel's karaoke bar, practically sitting in each other's laps. Mark was pressed against Jack's side with Jack's arm was resting on Mark's leg; completely casual. They were all squished into the booth with Bob barely leaving any room for Jack so Mark didn’t mind the closeness. There was hardly six inches between the ex-Ohioans for the Irishman to sit down in. Finally, Mark felt relaxed and content.

“To day one without sinking Septiplier!” Ken had cheered, and they all raised their glasses, clinking them together and laughing. This environment was what Mark had been craving out of the convention all day. Nothing but good food and drinks, even better friends and not a single thought of serial kidnappers and ruined lives to dampen their good cheer. Sure, the bodyguards were still there, but they were more in the background now. There was no fan presence for them to police. Just a bunch of happily rambunctious young men slowly getting wasted. (Besides Mark.)

Several drinks into the night, Mark's head flopped onto Jack's shoulder. His eyes were barely open, and he fingered the stem of his empty mocktail glass distractedly. Initially, he’d been upset that he couldn’t drink off the stresses of the day like everyone else. However, he was feeling pretty good right about now, all droopy and drippy with lackadaisy muscles. He must have been more tired than he originally anticipated.

“Someone looks tired…” Jack lifted his arm, ruffling Mark's hair before letting his arm settle around Mark's shoulders.

Mark huffed and snuggled deeper against Jack’s side. Sleepy or not, he wasn’t the only one seeking out a good cuddle. Felix was sitting in Ken's lap. P.J. was practically asleep with his head pillowed on Wade's chest. Brad and Michael were crooning a love song together into the karaoke machine. “Sleep's f’r the weak…”

Jack chuckled, patting Mark's shoulder. “It's okay to be weak every now and then, Markimoo.”

“‘m no’ weak…fite meh...” Mark almost wanted to giggle at himself. He sounded drunk. Talk about a lazy tongue. Somewhere in the back of his mind a niggling sensation had started up but he was too comfortable to pay it much mind. He was _sick_ and _tired_ of worrying and over-thinking and letting all the panic seep under his skin. He was safe and sound there surrounded by nothing but friends and he was going to _enjoy it,_ damn it. Even if his glasses were awkwardly pressing into his nose, if he closed his eyes, he could probably just fall asleep like this.

“Hey! Can you get him back to his room?” Jack’s sudden shout roused Mark from his drifting. He grumbled something unintelligible as he tried to remember how his mouth should work. Jack and his guard- Mike?- were ushering him out of the crowded booth and onto unsteady legs.

“I’ll make sure he gets to bed safely,” the log of a man reassured Jack. “Room 318, right, kid? Got your key?”

“G’t it!” Mark chirped, still half-asleep, fumbling near his crotch to fish his key card out of his pocket. He didn’t really want to leave the party or the warmth of Jack’s side, but he knew it would be for the best. A decent night’s sleep in a real bed would do him a world of good come tomorrow. He was already grumpy enough about the Ship Sinker nonsense without a crick in his neck or a crooked spine adding to his troubles. He shambled out of the bar with Jack’s giggles at his back and a sloppy wave directed over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be at least one new Kintsugi chapter every M/W/F through May.
> 
> However, the two stories will not always BOTH get a new chapter. If Mark doesn't update, check on Jack's, and if Jack doesn't update, look here.


	3. 1/20: Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Drugging, Non-Consensual Fondling, Non-Consensual Bondage, Kidnapping, Violence

Something was wrong.

Mark could not put his finger on exactly what that something _was,_ but a small part of him knew it was innately _wrong._ There were tiny, red flags shooting up at the back of his mind as he stumbled away with his bodyguard. Little alarm bells ringing themselves to death with no one paying attention to them. He could barely watch where his feet were going, let alone process the subtle hints his instincts were trying to give him.

All he wanted to do was get back to his hotel room and go to bed. Mark had no idea when he had become so exhausted but he supposed the stressful day must have taken its toll on his psyche. It was easy to joke and laugh off the website with its ominous prediction when surrounded by close friends and excited fans. The good vibes were infectious in a way that never ceased to rejuvenate Mark and recharge his batteries.

At the moment, it felt like someone had forgotten to replace his. He was thoroughly drained. In fact, it almost felt like he was drunk. That was impossible, though. Mark had been reduced to drinking virgin mocktails all night due to his alcohol intolerance. There was nothing chemically affecting his body. He was just tired. And the Ship Sinker was about the last thing on his mind as they finally reached his door.

The amount of fumbling that proceeded with his room key left him giggling up a storm. “Heeheehee, oh man, ’m real crosssss-eyed t’night. Wh’ was in that virgin murgurta, huh? Need t’ get the rec’pe….” Mark was so amused he failed to even notice just how slurred his speech was. The bodyguard certainly did not comment on it. Nor did he make any efforts to help Mark get into his hotel room. Douchebag.

Finally, the little light blinked a cheerful green - which sort of reminded him of someone - and he shoved open his door with all the grace of a boneless man. Only pausing to deliver a sloppy salute to his protector for the night. Mark stumbled over to the bed, so tired he barely had the presence of mind to get out of his rumpled clothing; let alone put on any pajamas. Stripped down to a pair of comfy pink boxer-briefs, he popped his phone in to charge and folded his glasses on the bedside table. Then he was welcoming the bed with open arms and drifting into a near immediate slumber.

_Something was wrong._

There was noise in his hotel room. The shuffling of footsteps on carpet and the rustle of clothing. Mark was having trouble processing it. Those red flags were back with a vengeance but his brain felt as if someone had dumped molasses all over it. His thought process would not move fast enough. He could not sort out how he should be properly reacting to this situation. What it meant.

Then there were hands on him, and it was too late for processing. His body instinctively lashed out; and if he was in a right state of mind, he might have worried it was one of his friends. Someone sneaking into his room to try and prank him, perhaps. A clear mind would have just as swiftly pointed out that none of them had his room key.

But plausible culprits aside, there were still hands on him. They were grappling with his own limbs, which felt like lead-leavened jelly attached to the dead weight of his torso. Mark’s vision was absolute shit in the dark without his glasses. Yet he still managed to get a lucky shot and elbow his attacker in the gut. Mumbling something unintelligible but triumphant sounding, he was quickly quelled by something hard crashing into his face. It knocked him flat while the entire bed seemed to be turned on its axis and the shadowed room around him performed a stunning triple backflip.

While his mind scrambled to make sense of the world again, he felt his arms being roughly jerked behind his back. There were a few soft clicks and then a heavy weight was settling itself on his spine; effectively pinning his arms. Fully awake now and seriously beginning to grasp at panic, Mark continued struggling past a throbbing head. All of his verbal protests dripped from his mouth almost unintelligibly. At one point, a palm smacked into the back of his head; stuffing his face into his pillow. It did nothing to muffle the sound of duct tape.

“Stop-” He was ignored as his ankles were roughly bound together. That was going to hurt coming off later. _“Stop-”_ Another swift punch to the back of his head. Mark went still and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort not to just pass out; he was going to be sick. Groggily, he knew he was being flipped over, but it was all background information until that tearing sound came a second time.

Any protests he had were silenced by several layers of the sturdy tape. Yeah, that was going to hurt. His eyes opened once more only to completely fail at taking in the shadow hovering over his immobilized body and he could hear more than feel the harsh, heavy breaths filtering through his nose. He was terrified. Beneath all the sluggish mental processes and adrenaline-fueled struggling was the fear of a trapped animal. His fight or flight responses were taken from him. His voice, too. And with growing horror, comprehension slowly dawned.

“Yeah, you know exactly what this is. Damn, it’s too bad you don’t drink. Would’ve made this whole thing a Hell of a lot easier. Oh well, I like a fighter. Put up more of a struggle than I bet your boyfriend would’ve.” The voice sounded familiar, but he was too panicked to put his finger on a face or name. The fingers squeezing at his chin and cheeks were unforgiving as they tilted his head back and forth as if to admire him like some kind of fine art. It made his insides cringe.

Muffled confusion was met with a swift backhand that left his head spinning all over again. “Shut up. Your struggle was amusing and all but now this is just getting annoying. Go back to sleep. When you wake up, we’re gonna have some real fun.” The stranger’s tone promised anything but, however Mark had zero choice in the matter. A bag was shoved over his head and then he was being rolled unceremoniously off his bed. He hit the floor with a loud thud, and gave a stifled squeak of pain in response, but something was off.

His body was uncomfortably contorted into as tight of a ball as it could manage. There were short, stiff walls pressing against him from all around. Mark’s stomach dropped. He tried to shout against the tape and struggle, but the sound of the zipper circling his half-naked body was like a nail being hammered into his own personal coffin. He was being stowed away into who-knew-what so the Ship Sinker could cart him off to who-knew-where and _no one_ would realize he was gone until it was too late. No one would check on him until morning.

There was a sharp pinch in his bicep before the surrounding world became muffled by thick canvas. By the time the suitcase was being righted onto its rolling wheels, he came to understand the pinch must have been some kind of needle. Because he was growing severely drowsy again for seemingly no other reason. His muscles became heavy and he found it impossible to keep his eyes open. Now he knew how the kidnapper had managed to slip away with all of his victims.

But the information could not help him now.

The last thing he heard was the door being pushed open.

The last thought he had, strangely, was a vague apology… to Jack.


	4. Picture 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Partial Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage

It was just an ordinary picture. The quality was hardly professional or even excellent, but it was decent. Enough to make out all the important details in the photograph. To distinguish certain colors and shapes. Of course, it could have been a grainy Polaroid in black and white and the world _still_ would have held its breath as they scoured every last inch of the image shown.

Curled up on the floor of what appeared to be some kind of padded room was an Internet celebrity well known and loved by the community. Broad shoulders, defined nose, rounded cheekbones and a head of floppy, floofy hair rapidly pushing out the red dye from its roots. Brown eyes were closed but there was no mistaking the figure in the photograph.

Mark Fischbach was laying in some indiscriminate room in nothing but his skivvies with something keeping his hands behind his back. The device was hidden by his body; the position of which looked anything but comfortable. Like someone had just carelessly dropped their cargo without a second thought. For those that bothered with zooming in to scope out the finer details, they would notice several bruises dotting tanned skin.

The most prominent coloration was centered around Mark’s cheek and eye. The latter of which was also swollen from whatever damage it had taken. The slightly reddish hue to the padding surrounding Mark was discomfiting. Now, the world knew Mark was in one piece. Now, there could be no doubts.

The counter at the bottom of the page clicked over.


	5. Picture 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood

The next picture had the exact same quality, but was more shock-inducing. It was clearly meant to be a metaphorical sucker punch to the gut. Anyone fancying the idea of the kidnapper having no distinct motive could not deny the obvious. There was a twisted sort of artistry to not only these photos, but the ones to come. He was doing things this way on purpose. And he was probably enjoying himself.

The picture, unlike the broad shot of the last, was a close-up. A classic zoom-in on the subject’s face. Normally, Mark’s fans would be scrabbling for something of that caliber. He was a handsome man with a facial structure some people would pay millions for. With his strong jaw, rounded cheekbones and big, puppy dog eyes. It was a face anyone could love.

“Tough love” was apparently included, seeing as Mark’s face had succumbed to much of it since his disappearance. While the bruising and swollen eye from the last picture remained, there were now thin, glistening trails of blood streaking past his lips. His nose was starting to swell but might have avoided being completely broken. Between photographs, he had either been kicked or punched in the face.

As if seeking to make the entire view more grisly and disturbing, Mark’s head was not resting on the floor for this picture. Instead, a black gloved hand was tightly gripping a fistful of his hair to raise his face up for a better angle. Even secondhand, anyone could see where the roots were near to splitting from the skin under such strain. Yet Mark’s face remained slack and unresponsive. The blood proved he was not dead- yet. But his appearance conveyed something was definitely not right.


	6. Picture 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Partial Nudity

Picture number three was a bit different from its two predecessors. More artistic, less sadistic, perhaps. There was no further brutalization of its subject overtly present. Just the same bruising and a few new streaks of blood caused by an adjustment to Mark’s positioning. At first, it was not obvious, but as more details were registered one would notice the hints.

The angle of the picture was the biggest. Looking down on Mark like the flagship image, but from a far closer position- like the second picture. This one found a happy medium between showcasing Mark’s face versus his entire body. Just a shot from the chest up. But the way Mark’s shoulders and biceps now flagged to either side, how his chest had become slightly raised and the fact his abused hair was fanned out beneath his head like a bed of dark flowers told all.

Mark had been rolled onto his back. Not a big deal. Until someone connected the dots. From the height and angle of the photograph, it must have been taken from _very close._ So close, in fact, that the only option for the kidnapper to obtain such a prize shot would be to seat himself right on top of his victim. Shamelessly straddling his unconscious body to take such a- now lewd- photograph. Were it not for the blood and bruising it could have easily been misconstrued for something a little more not-safe-for-work. The fact Mark was still obviously unconscious and unaware made it all the more frightening.


	7. No Audio Clip 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Partial Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage, Violence, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Non-consensual Humiliation

There was no sound. Whether it was to protect the identity of the kidnapper or for pure aesthetic, no one would ever know. But it was more than just still images this time. Twelve seconds was hardly a video but judging by the speed at which the hit counter rolled over, the Internet was eating it up none the less. It was anything but a good sign.

The clip itself was brief, stunning and direct. Opening with Mark still laying unconscious on his back in the padded room. There was a blur of movement, and then water splashed soundlessly over his still form. His entire body gave a sharp jolt and spasmed shortly on the floor at the abrupt awakening from what was no doubt a lengthy slumber. His mouth gaped open while his chest heaved sporadically; head twitching this way and that as if trying to comprehend just where he was.

He did not have his glasses. Who knew just how much Mark was _actually_ seeing. Let alone understanding. Whether his brain was alert or sluggish, he was in an entirely unfamiliar location in just his underwear and soaking wet. Coupled with the pain that was no doubt beginning to make itself known in his limbs and face. Wincing with a grimace, he appeared to start struggling against his bonds. His heels scraped the floor several times seeking purchase; perhaps to sit up.

His efforts were met with a swift kick to his exposed ribs. The blooming pain was clear as day on his ever-expressive face. Brown eyes widening in shocked confusion, mouth contorting into what must have been some kind of startled cry. But the clip remained silent as Mark squirmed at his captor’s feet. His lips were moving rapidly- maybe asking questions, maybe begging the man not to kick him again. Whatever the words were, they were likely ignored as another kick was delivered without mercy.

Now trembling from a mixture of what was no doubt fear and pain, Mark could only kick his feet a bit to protest against his attacker’s next- and final- actions. The same foot that had been driving a wedge between his ribs planted its sole firmly on the bruised side of his face. It ground down, momentarily, before forcing Mark’s head to turn so he could face the camera properly. The shoe remained, and possibly applied more pressure, if Mark’s rapidly crumbling expression was anything to go by. There was the smallest flicker of terror there, perhaps in reaction to something the kidnapper had said, before the clip ended.

Mark was definitely alive. But was that really a good thing?


	8. Picture 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Partial Nudity, Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Bondage, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Blood

Mark had been rolled onto his stomach. Thankfully, he still wore his boxer-briefs, but being otherwise naked and soaking wet he must have been freezing. Completely exposed to the elements of the room and his attackers. Unfortunately, due to the update being a still photograph, it was more difficult to decipher exactly what was happening to Mark. His legs were slightly bent with toes digging into the floor as if seeking purchase. A clear sign of a struggle.

And why wouldn’t he be? Now on his belly, the handcuffs keeping his wrists pinned behind him could be viewed clear as day. The picture quality was too low to know for certain, but it seemed there was some damage on his wrists where the metal had cut into his skin. But the handcuffs were hardly the focus of the image.

The booted foot had returned and apparently enjoyed stepping all over Mark in his vulnerable state. This time, it was pressing down firmly on the back of his head. One could only imagine the sensitive hairs getting caught up in the patterns of the sole. His face, still retaining the injuries from prior footage, was quite obviously being firmly smashed into the floor. The padding may have softened the force of it but with a busted nose and swelling eye, it must have hurt a lot. There was now splashes of fresher, brighter blood on the padding near his face. One had to wonder if he could even breathe.


	9. Picture 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-Consensual Humiliation, Blood, Psychological Abuse, Non-consensual Bondage, Sexual Molestation, Partial Nudity

When not showcasing some form of brutality, the images uploaded to the website were of an overtly sexual nature. The first instance had been rather subtle if one didn’t know what to look for.

However, the second instance was brazen. It was so astoundingly blunt it may have actually proved funny- were it not for the circumstances. Mark certainly wasn’t laughing; though his captors probably were. There was no doubt the kidnappers were thoroughly enjoying themselves at Mark’s- and the viewers’- expense.

Mark was still facing the floor, but now he had managed to turn his head again. He faced the camera with a mixture of blood and water- impossible to tell if it was tears or leftover from the bucket- smeared across his skin. There was abject horror and revulsion in his expression; which almost seemed to plead with the camera. With the people on the other side. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Mark was on his knees, this time. Legs spread to create more of a triangle shape and fully expose his backside. With his arms stuck behind his back, his face and chest were forced to support his upper half. It looked extremely uncomfortable. And settled near snugly behind the celebrity, also on his knees, was one of the kidnappers. His body from the chest up was out of the shot, but he was supplying the camera with a firm and enthusiastic thumbs-up.

His other hand rested shamelessly on the curve of Mark’s hip. His pelvis was wedged so closely between Mark’s legs, pressing up against his ass, it was a wonder they didn’t become glued together. The mystery man’s knees were likely keeping Mark’s apart so he could slide into such a spot. Judging from Mark’s expression, the man might not necessarily have been fully flaccid, either.


	10. Picture 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Partial Nudity, Choking, Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Bondage, Blood

The brutality was swift to return, of course. Though perhaps carrying over a hint of the last picture’s sensual quality. It was another close-up shot of Mark on his back, but this time it was taken from the side. The camera still hovered above to get a bird’s eye view of Mark but the reason for its angle change was clear.

Someone else was already straddling a now _awake_ Mark. But they weren’t just taking pictures. The only sign of them in the image was their arms and hands; the latter of which were wrapped firmly around Mark’s neck. They could have just been sitting there for show, but Mark’s face told all.

His brown eyes were wide- nearly bulging out of their sockets. His mouth hung open and gaping as he tried, desperately, to suck in any minute amount of oxygen. His head had tilted back due to the presence of the hands and his chest had partially risen up from the floor as if to try and buck off his attacker. If one squinted past all the blood, the color in Mark’s face was noticeably concerning. Far too red even in the dim lighting. He was legitimately being strangled and there was absolutely _nothing_ anyone could do about it. But watch.


	11. No Audio Clip 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Violence, Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Bondage, Physical Abuse, Blood

With the next upload, a pattern had become clear.

Mark’s mouth was moving rapidly again. There was a chance, if someone slowed down the footage and managed to read his lips, that his words could be deciphered. But for all of twenty-four seconds he might as well have been speaking silent gibberish to his attackers. Mouthing ceaselessly like a mime or gaping fish ripped out of the water. The length of the video had doubled, but no one was hailing it as an improvement.

There was no finesse to this clip. Just sheer violence. Mark kept babbling, but it did nothing to deter his assailants. They kicked him; in his abdomen, his chest, his back. The toe of a boot even thwacked him in the head once, and he did cease talking for a good five seconds or so. He had probably been sent reeling by the impact. It didn’t give the kidnappers pause at all.

About halfway through they grew bored of kicking his prone form and lifted him half off the ground instead. He hung loose in their grip like dead weight; feet barely attempting to find purchase on the wet padded flooring. He coughed briefly, but was interrupted by a sharp right hook. His head snapped to the side and sent speckles of glistening blood flying to further stain the room. He opened his mouth, as if to try speaking again, but was met with a left hook. Then a sucker punch that definitely broke his nose as he was sent reeling back into the person keeping him semi-upright. He didn’t immediately move after that.

So his “helper” freed up a hand to grab at a fistful of his hair again. Clearly, he wasn’t recovering fast enough for their tastes. Mark’s head was forced up just in time to be met with a severe backhand. There was no question about plucked hairs as the gloved hand retreated to drop the locks clinging to its fingers. They fell like wisps behind Mark as his head lolled forward and to the left. There was no more talking. Just heavy breathing and fresh blood steadily streaming down his face to drip onto his legs. The clip ended with his assailant landing the full sole of his boot firmly into Mark’s abdomen with enough force to make him visibly choke.

Things weren’t getting better for Mark, and still the counter steadily rose.


	12. Picture 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Implied Non-consensual Bondage

No one was surprised to see another picture. The kidnappers had a clear pattern in mind and they were going to stick to it. But the counter was rising too fast for anyone to really make anticipatory comments about it on social media. Refresh the page, and there was probably something new to see. They must have had pictures and clips stockpiled for days in preparation. Were probably making more right now.

But the picture showed that time had clearly passed in Mark’s little Hell. The blood on the floor and his face was dried. The room was dim and empty besides the prone, curled up form of Mark in the corner. It looked cold. And uncomfortable. Newly formed bruises could be seen peeking around his ribs and legs. His face was so swollen from the abuse it had taken that he might not even be able to see once he regained consciousness. The thought was terrifying.

His hands were still behind his back, which likely meant his captors hadn't bothered removing the cuffs. His arms had to be terribly stiff and numb after sleeping like that. His nose was still crooked, and his hair was a mess. But he was alive, and they hadn't touched him. Yet.

There were no doubts the next series of images would change that.


	13. Picture 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Let's be honest here, you probably don't wanna know.

Like with the other pictures, a progression seemed to occur with each new upload.

Mark was awake now, in this one. But his wake up call was even worse than the first. Again, the men doused him with liquid to rouse him. This time, the viewers were left to guess about what exactly it was.

But the connotations were obvious. The picture showcased a solid, steady stream of something pouring into Mark’s face. The color was lost in the dimness. Mark, awake and questionably coherent, clearly wasn't happy. He had cringed in on himself, back pressed to the wall as if trying to escape the substance.

His face, though swollen, was still expressive with shock and disgust. The stuff was dripping from his hair to pool on the floor beneath his head. Otherwise, there were no signs of the perpetrators.


	14. Picture 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Partial Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage. Non-consensual Humiliation

Apparently, whatever the kidnappers had doused Mark with hadn't been enough. That, or they found him too disgusting to touch without a bit of a wash first. Yet they were hardly about to give him a bath. Mark was a captive; not a guest. And his captors’ torment extended beyond the bounds of simple physical torture.

Mark was still in the same corner. He hadn't been moved, and he was probably too scared or too out of it to leave the spot himself. His kidnappers took advantage of the walled in position.

He was huddled, tense and rigid and cringing away from the harsh spray pounding against his bruised skin. This time a man was in the photo with him, but just from the chest down. To showcase the power hose they were using in him. At such a close proximity, it was no wonder Mark looked so pained. It must have felt like needles being driven into his arms and back and legs.

He was clearly trying to protect his head but there was nowhere to hide. Nothing to cover it with since his hands were cuffed behind his back. Red and black hair clung messily to his ears and face; concealing his eyes. His mouth hung open in some sort of cry, or maybe he was begging again. The image was one frame. No one would ever be able to tell.


	15. No Audio Clip 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Bondage, Graphic Non-consensual Sexual Molestation, Blood, Violence, Psychological/Physical Abuse

It was the moment the Internet had been waiting for with baited breath. Another video clip. They were not disappointed.

Every clip, another twelve seconds of footage was added. First twelve, then twenty-four, and now the time stamp proclaimed thirty-six. They were getting longer.

And Mark’s torment wasn't getting any better.

This time, the kidnappers were dragging a very soaked, very sore, very _disoriented_ Markiplier to his feet. He wobbled on trembling limbs but didn't need to worry about carrying his own weight for very long. Seconds later he was being shoved bodily up against one of the walls. His arms were pinned even further behind him and booted feet were spreading his legs apart. Forcing his lower half to open up to the man keeping him firmly against the wall.

Mark was boxed in and helpless even as he tried to struggle. He gave noiseless shouts, arched his back and attempted to knee his attacker several times. The larger man didn't so much as flinch. Though he did give Mark another swift backhand. Blood could be seen trickling from a corner of Mark’s mouth when he turned back to glower defiantly at his abuser.

But the Ship Sinker only seemed to coo and murmur something unidentifiable to Mark through the hole of his black mask. He was too smart to show his face. Mark’s swollen lip curled with obvious revulsion and then escalated to a silent snarl as the man stroked fingers along the same cheek he had just hit. Mark was slapped for it- palm side this time.

The YouTuber countered by spitting at him. The man obviously didn't like Mark’s attitude; much as his fans were probably cheering him on. He snapped something and abruptly gripped Mark’s crotch with enough clear force that it had to hurt. The American’s voiceless howl confirmed it wasn't just for show. Mark's head dropped as he slumped down and likely began begging again. The man ignored him. Squeezing and rubbing between Mark’s legs until the younger man was trembling against the wall. Mark looked as if he were about to start bawling.

The kidnapper stroked at his bicep, and pressed an almost endearing kiss to his brow. Then he was roughly shoving Mark sideways until he collapsed messily back to the floor with another silent cry. The kidnapper snapped something at him, and his mouth moved in return, but the exchange was a mystery. Then the masked man pointed at the camera, snapped out another command, and the video feed cut-off.

But the show wasn't nearly over just yet.


	16. Picture 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Non-consensual Humiliation, Partial Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage

No time had passed between the last video and the newest picture. It could have been snapped seconds after the abrupt end of the clip. Mark was still on the floor; still sopping wet with blood spotting his face. The only real difference was that he’d either managed to roll onto his back, or the kidnappers had done it for him. Judging from his ashamed, embarrassed expression it was likely the latter of the two.

Mark had been splayed out for the whole world (literally) to see. Naked besides his soaked boxer-briefs with hands still pinned beneath him and legs partially spread. It could have been the centerfold of a dirty magazine or a pin-up for a sexy calendar- if Mark wasn’t so beat up. Strands of black and red clung to his swollen face. Bruises formed a mismatched patchwork of shifting colors across his skin. The outline of his dick could just barely be seen standing out against the material of his underwear. Mortified, Mark had turned his face as far from the camera as he could get, but there was little he could do to hide.

And still the counter rose.


	17. Picture 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Sexual Molestation, Sexual Abuse

Another jump in time- impossible to say just how much. But Mark was no longer alone on the floor. One of the men- probably the same one that had pinned him to the wall- had moved to straddle him again. Either that, or kneel beside his prone form. Because the camera only caught a view from Mark’s chest up to his face. It was angled to the side, as the other man needed room to get at Mark’s neck.

The black mask did _nothing_ to impede his attacker’s efforts. Mark’s head was pushed backwards from another currently occupying the tight space just beneath his chin. His expression was curled into shocked revulsion that contrasted the pink in his cheeks. Limbs were still trapped by handcuffs and body weight; leaving him absolutely defenseless. The kidnapper had no issues in locating a prime spot on Mark’s neck. Fortunately, it _was_ just a picture. Only that singular moment was captured for the world to see-

The kidnapper had his mouth latched firmly over Mark’s pulse point. From the slight tension between Mark’s brows, he was likely using teeth. There was no mystery to what the man was busy doing. No longer satisfied with normal bruises, he was leaving one behind with his mouth. It was a far more twisted, debasing form of marking that would no doubt be visible in the next photograph.


	18. Picture 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Partial Nudity, Non-consensual Humiliation, Bruising, Non-consensual Sexual Molestation

A nearly identical shot, but zoomed out a bit to show off more of Mark’s naked torso. It was revealed the man had indeed seated himself on Mark at some point; as he occupied the space now. Only half of him was visible in the shot, but it was enough. Apparently satisfied with one hickey for the moment, the kidnapper had moved on to more reactionary torment.

Black gloved thumbs were pressed up against Mark’s hardened nipples. Palms and fingers were splayed out shamelessly over muscular pectorals while their owner teased the captive beneath him. There was no longer an obstacle wedged up under his jaw, but still Mark’s head remained tossed back. The stretch of his neck was entirely exposed to show off a now prominent bruise. The expression on his face was heartbreaking.

Aroused, ashamed, horrified and shocked all at once in the form of wide eyes and parted lips. Blood was still smeared across his swollen, bruised face. It was impossible to tell if Mark was crying out from the indignity or groaning in pleasure- _unwanted pleasure._ The fear in brown eyes conveyed that much for certain.


	19. No Audio Clip 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Non-consensual Stripping, Blood, Graphic Non-consensual Sexual Molestation, Non-consensual Humiliation, Psychological/Physical Abuse, Violence, Non-consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Knifeplay

Forty-eight seconds. Nearly a minute now of silent footage and haunting images. The build up for this one had been the most nauseating yet. No longer was Mark simply being brutalized. No more could anyone doubt exactly what the kidnappers had in store for their captive. Mark was being fondled against his will and sexually abused _on camera._ It was like someone’s sick idea of torture or non-consensual porn. Unfortunately, from the look of things Mark was in store for all of the above.

This time, the video started out with both kidnapper and kidnappee sitting on the floor together. Finally, Mark wasn’t forced onto his feet or laying vulnerable on the ground. But the position was scarcely an improvement. Now Mark was settled securely between his captor’s legs. Both were facing the camera, which rested at about mid-chest level, but Mark’s fully exposed body was concealing a majority of the kidnapper’s. He looked utterly terrified.

There appeared to be fresh blood on his face alongside a steady flow of tears; they must have hit him again. Possibly to keep him in the position they’d chosen. His chest heaved wildly with short, quickened breaths that forced his mouth to remain hanging open. Damp, messy bangs hung in his eyes. Slowly and without warning, the hands that had been gripping his biceps to keep him steady began to move.

They slithered up and down Mark’s arms several times; squeezing filthily at his biceps and shoulders. They wrapped around his neck briefly; just enough for panic to form in his face. But the man didn’t strangle him again. He just moved on with his steady exploration of Mark’s body. Up and down the fibrous muscles of a broad back. Curling around to the front with palms gliding over shivering ribs. They rubbed along his defined abdominal muscles and squeezed at his pecs again. Went out of their way to simultaneously pinch both of his nipples so as to elicit a silent cry. Mark jerked in their hold; he was smacked in the side of the head for it.

His throat bobbed softly either with a hard swallow or a whimper. Still, the hands continued on their merry way. Never stuttering or stopping no matter what words spilled from Mark’s rapidly moving lips. They squeezed at his shins and rolled the heels of gloved palms around his knee caps. The kidnapper’s mouth moved and Mark’s mouth pulled back to release some cringe-worthy sound. He looked more and more devastated with each passing second. And then his thighs were found by those wandering hands. They squeezed along the outside scope of the muscle before sliding inwards without missing a beat. Mark flinched again and tried to close his legs; they were ripped as far apart as they could go. His jaw dropped in a soundless scream.

There was no doubt Mark was sobbing heavily now as his sensitive thighs were groped and manhandled. Fingers inched closer and closer to his crotch in a creep that left him shivering against the larger man. There was an incredibly short pause. Followed by the kidnapper abruptly squeezing at Mark’s crotch. The Youtuber’s next sound- not that it could be heard- was silenced by the second hand slapping firmly over his mouth and nose. It held there, tugging Mark back against his abuser’s chest, while its partner happily groped and fondled Mark through his underwear. His throat convulsed and his lower half wriggled fruitlessly as he struggled against the violation.

All the while, Mark knew the camera was rolling; had to see it sitting there, aimed only at him. At his sexual torment. His face was reddened from a combination of embarrassment and a lack of air. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks to soak into the man’s glove as the hand finally left his crotch; only to grip at his hip. His ass was dragged back to line up with his shoulders- among other things. Mark tried to shake his head but the hold on his face was too strong. He could only shudder and tremble and attempt to curl forwards as a thumb slipped beneath the waistband of his underwear. It trailed back and forth along the hidden skin before seeming to make a retreat.

Half a second later both hands dropped back down to tug at Mark’s underwear. Now free to gasp and speak, Mark shouted silent pleas between great, heaving breaths. He tried again to close his legs but the kidnapper’s arms stopped him. Pulled and shifted pink material until the prize they’d been hiding could slip free. The man leered straight into the camera as if he’d unearthed some ground shaking discovery. Mark appeared to let loose another sob and turned his face away from the camera. Whether it was due to having his dick revealed to the world or the fact he was partially hard was anyone’s guess.

Rather than leave the garment awkwardly twisted around the base of Mark’s genitals, a knife was produced from behind the kidnapper’s back. He unceremoniously cut away Mark’s last shred of protection and tossed the scraps carelessly off to the side. Mark’s eyes were squeezed shut as tightly as his jaw while he turned his head around as far as his vertebrae would allow. Not that it mattered. Everyone already knew it was him. Yet still he felt compelled to try and hide; to retain whatever dignity he could. The man leaned forward to lick a stripe around the shell of his ear; traced up Mark’s trembling arm with the tip of the knife. He followed the curve of Mark’s shoulder to a nipple and circled the spot dangerously. Mark’s gritted teeth parted in some kind of gasp or exhalation.

Fingers sunk into Mark’s hair and gripped with a vengeance. His mouth was open, screaming again, while his head was forced into a painfully awkward tilt. The knife traced lower to rest the full blade horizontally along Mark’s quivering stomach. Leaning in, gaze still locked with the camera, his captor hissed something unknown into Mark’s exposed ear. The blade pressed a bit harder into Mark’s skin and all the embarrassed color drained readily from his face. The footage ended.


	20. Picture 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Non-consensual Knifeplay

The ending of the last video clip had been so abrupt and chilling people were clamoring for more. They _needed_ to know what happened next. What that man planned to do to Markiplier. The hits skyrocketed so fast it was barely a refresh later when the next picture was posted for the world to see.

A picture. There wouldn’t be any more footage yet. It could take hours, or it could only take minutes.

The picture didn’t sate the curiosity or the fear nearly enough. It wasn’t even especially graphic or telling as to Mark’s current situation. Just a close-up shot of what must be his stomach. The bottom of his pecs and the dip of his hip bones could just be seen at either end of the image. Due to the grainy quality, it was difficult to find the usual detail of his defined musculature. However, one anomaly did stand out to the viewer. Much like a weed in a beautiful garden or a smudge on a polished mirror.

Cutting in a jagged diagonal across Mark’s stomach was a shallow gash. A thin line trailing sporadically from just below one of his nipples all the way down towards his crotch. Judging from the small amount of blood trickling from the wound, it was nothing life threatening. Just a continuation of the supposed threat from the video.

Yet it served as a grim reminder that Mark’s kidnappers were free to do _anything._ They’d only made the cut shallow because they _wanted_ to. On a whim, they could disembowel him and no one would be able to stop them. No one could prevent a second Hannah Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, how the hits on this fic soared once I started posting pictures. :) Over double Gold's, I believe.


	21. Picture 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Non-consensual Knifeplay, Implied Gore

The next image was about as telling as the last, but far more horrifying. Perhaps it was because Mark’s bloody, terrified face was the focus. Or maybe it was the razor sharp edge of an equally bloodstained knife pressed up against the swell of his cheek bone.

It was another close-up shot. As if the kidnappers were teasing the audience by not giving them the big picture. Just showing snippets of a torment Mark had already experienced. Things no one knew about until now. The outside world was at the Ship Sinker’s mercy; same as Mark. Without their decision to share, everyone would be in the dark. Each new post drew more and more views. More hits. Word spread with the images and videos and people followed to the source. They were a set of puppets on different strings with the same master doing all the pulling.

Unfortunately for Mark, he happened to be the Ship Sinkers’ favorite puppet. He was the only one they could tug up by the strings and clutch in their hands. Molding, positioning and _mutilating_ his body however they saw fit. Sometimes without rhyme or reason.

They hadn’t cut into his face- yet. But the threat was present and very, very real. One little slip and the point of the blade could pop straight beneath Mark’s eye. Could slice through his nose or stab into his mouth via a thin cheek. All these scenarios were seen in just how utterly _scared_ Mark was; in wide eyes and clenched jaw and teeth splotched with traces of his own blood. He was looking at the camera- at the viewer- but probably not voluntarily. Hair a matted, stringy mess and face ragged, it was hard to doubt things would only get worse for Mark at the next refresh.


	22. Picture 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-consensual Bondage, Graphic Description of Sustained Injuries

Rather than show off some more with the knife, the next picture took a noticeable change in course. There was no blade or even visible cuts being made to Mark’s body. His front wasn’t even the showcase.

Instead, the picture was taken at Mark’s back. Judging from the position and familiar sight of blood-stained padding, he was laying on his stomach again. The sight of relatively unmarked skin was almost a shock after all the damage he’d been suffering. They hadn’t done anything to his back or shoulders yet. Nothing but the beginnings of a few bruises from rough treatment.

His wrists stood out in sharp contrast.

Mottled with shallow lacerations and welts from the sharp edges of the handcuffs Mark had worn since _at least_ the first photograph- if not longer. The skin there was heavily bruised from all of Mark’s struggles. It had to hurt; the skin raw, reddened and trapped by unprotected metal for far too long. Not even counting the ache that must have settled into his forced back shoulders. It would be a wonder if his arms could function properly once they were finally removed.

Which served as the most startling aspect of the latest picture: the handcuffs _were_ being removed. One was unclasped and the other was clearly in the midst of being taken off as well. Why they were releasing Mark’s restraints, showing it off and what they could possibly have in store for the coming video clip were all a mystery.


	23. No Audio Clip 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Blood, Violence, Tasering, Physical Abuse, Implied Death of Major Character

A full minute was nothing. Just sixty seconds that could fly by in a blink. Even after clips spanning half that time, it felt like not enough. An _hour_ wouldn’t be enough time to actually witness Mark- living and breathing- in that room. Much like a catastrophic train wreck or a seven car pile up on the highway, people couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t resist the temptation to check the site whenever news of another clip being posted hit social media.

Unlike previous videos where Mark was helpless and toyed with by his captors, this clip took on a very different tone. As the last picture showed, his handcuffs had been removed. However, the video was probably started at least a few minutes later.

Mark was no longer on the floor. He wasn’t rubbing feeling back into his wrists or shoulders but was still flexing his fingers. Though beaten and bloodied, he stood on only slightly trembling legs in possibly the best defensive stance he could manage in his current state. Knees and elbows bent, arms up by his torso and fists clearly doing their best to clench properly. The tension it created in his wrists had to sting. However, the weakness in his body didn’t seep into his eyes or facial expression. The tight set of his mouth didn’t waver as he stared off-camera. No doubt at his abusers.

With Mark being the only body actually in the shot, it made any conversation he held with the men even more impossible to decipher. The first ten or fifteen seconds of the video was just Mark’s mouth moving raggedly between pauses. There were moments he would break his gaze away from the person he was talking to and glance sporadically about the room. More moments still that were accented by an anxious twitch or nervous shuffle of feet. Mark was determined; but understandably scared.

Then, finally, there was new movement. One of the masked men entered the shot while rolling up the sleeves of his dark shirt. Mark’s defensive stance tightened into something borderline ready for a fight. Even with the mask, it was obvious when his opponent laughed at the sight; going so far as to make a “come and get me” gesture with his gloved hand.

No one could really blame Mark for taking the bait. Not after what he’d already been through. Awkward as it must have been to try and fight while naked, Mark didn’t allow the oddity to lessen his blows. He wasn’t a martial arts expert or a punching bag enthusiast or even aggressive by nature. Yet when a person was in acute danger, if their life or livelihood were being threatened, they would always find the will to fight. No matter their skill level or experience. Now that Mark _had_ that chance, he was going to take it. And he was by no means a pushover.

Mark was a little sluggish after everything but made up for it with his smaller size. It was easier for him to dodge wild punches and slip around behind his captor for a quick jab to the ribs or spine. He was careful to keep a healthy distance; knowing his size could be used against him at any moment if he was grabbed. Fortunately, his opponent was trying to bank on that knowledge and kept going for grapples instead of actual hits.

He took a solid blow to the face and stumbled, but jumped straight back into another swooping dodge. Mark drove an elbow straight between the man’s shoulder blades; setting his torso to twisting from the pain. He got one in the ribs for it. That didn’t stop him. All the while, the cameraman continued to film- must have, as the view panned with the fighters inching their way around the room- without any signs of stepping in to help their partner in crime.

Mark narrowly jumped back to avoid a devastating sucker punch to his abdomen and then utilized his flexibility to swing his leg up. He slammed the appendage into the kidnapper’s side to send him careening into the nearby wall and gave a voiceless shout of triumph. He didn’t let up; immediately bending low to swipe his opponent’s legs out from under his body with his other foot. The man toppled like a Jenga tower. Though naked and dripping with fresh blood, Mark lifted his arms in his victory. There was no immediate indication as to whether he’d actually “won” anything.

They didn’t let him get that far, of course. The fight had seemed to go on forever yet only lasted about thirty seconds. There was still time. A third man entered from outside the shot and approached Mark from the back where he towered over his fallen oppressor. It was like a shot straight out of a horror movie.

The taser was abrupt and immediate. Out in a flash from the interlopers pocket to press against the exposed, vulnerable side of its victim. The ensuing jolt was heard more in the minds of the viewers than through any speakers as Mark’s entire body harshly convulsed from the voltage. It was no shock collar. It wasn’t a game. He fell to the floor seconds later still twitching with his face screwed up in pain. The fallen man was back on his feet and tearing the device from his companion’s grip with wordless shouting. However, he probably wasn’t yelling at the interference.

Seeing as his next move was to kneel down and drive the taser against Mark’s abdomen; shocking him again. His mouth kept moving with no doubt vile words while Mark could do nothing beyond spasm and cry out to the void. The second shock was held for a good five seconds before the man kneeling at Mark’s side was roughly shoved away; onto his ass.

The third mystery figure, the one who had initially shocked Mark and more slight than his raging cohort, dropped down beside their victim almost with a panicked fervor. His hands were scoping over Mark’s chest, stomach and neck but not with the usual filthy intentions. Black gloved hands grabbed up Mark’s face while the man snapped something to the others. There were only a few seconds left in the video, but it was more than enough time to garner something was wrong. Mark’s mouth was agape with heavy, rapid breaths and he didn’t seem to be looking at the man dragging him to sit up. The other kidnapper had abandoned his taser and run off-camera.

The video ended with fingers being pressed to Mark’s throat, where his pulse point should be, and their owner shouting over his shoulder at the camera. The device was jostled before the footage abruptly stopped. The audience was left to wonder at exactly what happened those last few seconds.

If Mark would be alive for the next picture.


	24. 1/24: Contemplation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has some time to think while hanging around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-Consensual Bondage, Forced Captivity, Nudity Mention, Abuse Mention, Near Death Mention

It was silent in the room besides the quiet creak of the rope above him. Mark still didn’t know if that meant the room was in some abandoned building or if it was just soundproofed. He never managed to catch a glimpse outside the door. Hadn’t even been able to hear the hum of ventilation or water rushing through pipes when he could press his ear to the padded walls. It was just hours upon hours of silence only broken by him. By words spoken to the void or aching groans or a few ragged coughs.

It was chilly in the room. Not unbearably so, but enough to risk catching a cold whenever they decided to get him soaking wet. He could only assume he hadn’t gotten the sniffles just yet because of what good health he happened to be in. That wouldn’t last forever. Not at the rate they were going.

Mark had no idea just how long it had been since he was taken from his hotel room in the night. Days, probably. Maybe weeks? There was no way to note the passage of time. None of his captors ever made mention of whether it was morning or evening when they decided to continue his torture. They just showed up, seemingly sporadic, and set about finding new ways to make Mark’s existence miserable. Sometimes it would just be one. Occasionally, two. Mark always knew he was in for the worst of it when the man with the cameras showed up. If all three happened to be present his life was basically about to become a living Hell. Not that it wasn’t close already.

Was everyone still freaking out over his disappearance? Were his friends devastated to find him gone in the morning? What were Tom and their moms thinking? They had to know it was the Ship Sinker. They had to know the things that had happened to previous victims. What had become of Hannah Hart in the end. Did they all think he was going to die? Were they still trying to look for him?

Entertaining such questions was one of the few tactics keeping him sane. Mark wasn’t used to isolation like this. No matter how lonely he could get between roommates or girlfriends, he always had the option to go out. To be around people; strangers on the street or his friends in L.A. Even at home he had Chica to cuddle and play with when he was in dire need of companionship. In that room he had no one. Only his abusers for a scant few hours at most before he was left to his own devices again. There was nothing to do but _wait_. Nothing to watch or interact with but his own body and any restraints they left him in. Just the steady throbbing of his various injuries to remind him that yes, he was still alive.

Barely, after that scare he’d given them a short time ago. Mark thought for sure he was going to die after his heart lost its rhythm and became so drastically irregular. It had reminded him too much of his heart attack. Too much being short of breath and collapsing as his vision went dark at the edges. He still wasn’t sure how they managed to bring him back. But they weren’t going to be using that taser anymore.

Goody. One tiny implement of torture now out of their practically unlimited arsenal. Mark felt so damn _lucky._ Grunting as he attempted to shift his weight from one strained foot to the other, Mark lifted his head to look at his bleary surroundings, and everything was still a mottled blur without his glasses. A puff of an exhale left his lips and he wiggled his fingers. “...feel like m’arms’re gonna fall off… fuck….” Being strung from the ceiling was far worse than anything those handcuffs had done to his wrists. Terrified as he was of whatever they had in store for him next, part of Mark just wanted them to come back and release him. Manipulate his body into something else while he still had _some_ feeling left in it. Anything to distract him from the endless _nothing._

There was a creak as the door suddenly opened somewhere behind him. Tension returned to Mark’s muscles. Seemed he would get his wish.


	25. Picture 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage, Bruising, Abuse of Puns

It took longer this time. Either the kidnappers wanted to maintain suspense on purpose or they were working to keep up with the rapidly rising influx of viewers. People _flooded_ onto the site for the next update. They were gnawing at the bit to see the aftermath of what had to be the worst cliffhanger yet.

There was no telling how much time had passed. The room and Mark both looked very much the same. However, fresh bruises spotted his skin which meant at least a day had likely gone by. There were no obvious indications of what Mark might have gone through in the meantime. Still naked and exposed to the world, he’d been restrained again. Thankfully not with another set of handcuffs. Instead, Mark’s captors had used rope that was a beautiful pink even in the poor quality of the photo. Clearly, they were mocking.

Wrists bound up by the rope and pulled high above his head, Mark was strung to a hook in the ceiling of the room. It had gone unnoticed until now as usually the camera shots were too low. The height and pull were just enough to prevent Mark from fully standing on his feet. His heels were inched up off the floor with most of his weight resting on the arch and ball of his foot. The position couldn’t be comfortable.

Judging from the level of exhaustion on Mark’s face and how his head was slightly lolled off a shoulder, he probably hadn’t been hoisted up recently. It was impossible to say just how long he’d been hanging there. Knowing the men who had him at their mercy, it was only bound to get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, my, my... two hundred hits in about two days?? This is really going viral... hmm....


	26. Picture 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Bruising, Implied Whipping

Gritted, blood-stained teeth. Narrowed brown eyes. A face splotched with bruises but hosting a fiery animosity. Stubbled jaw set with a fierce determination through all the exhaustion and fear. Streaks of greasy black and fading red hanging down like scraggly vines.

The frayed head of a flog tucked up beneath Mark’s chin. Forcing his head up and his gaze into the camera.

A simple close-up, but a profound one. A snapshot of just what was in store for Mark. Yet perhaps the photo was also a glimmer of hope for those who cared about him. A sign that he hadn’t given up yet. That he was still in there past all the blood and bruises; fighting on. It didn’t matter if he was afraid. From face alone, Mark told the world he wasn’t balking to anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really driving that hit counter up you guys....


	27. Picture 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Bruising, Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Humiliation

The next shot was from the back. As if the kidnappers wanted to show off their “prize”. Besides mottled bruises from kicks and manhandling, the long stretch of Mark’s muscular back was thus far untouched. The image stretched from the back of his head all the way down to his thighs; not bothering to blur out or censor his ass.

The strain of the position could more clearly be seen here. The forced flex and tension of Mark’s muscles in his back and shoulders. How his spine was stretched to its limit at an awkward angle. If he wasn’t a real victim, it might be considered a work of art.

But Mark wasn’t posing. And there would be more for him to worry about than muscle strain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyes the hit counter* Hmm...


	28. 1/29: Nourishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Humiliation, Violence, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Bruising, Shock Collar Use, Choking

“Come on, eat it. I know you’re starving. Hunger strikes ain’t gonna do you any good here, kid. You’re just making things worse for yourself.”

“....”

“What? No snippy comeback? Don’t tell me we’ve broken you already. Where’s that bite from a while back? Where’s the fucker that nearly bruised one of my ribs?”

“....”

“Y’know when I talk I expect _an answer,_ damn it. Now **_talk._** ”

“....”

“Fine. Have it your way. I know what’ll get a sound out of you.”

Mark yelped as a jolt of electricity zapped him around the neck. His body jerked and he nearly lost his balance where he sat on his knees. His abdominal muscles strained and flexed as he worked to keep himself upright with his arms bound roughly behind his back in a sloppy box-tie. Off to the side, the man laughed. Mark could see how he rubbed his thumb over the little trigger on the black remote; taunting him. Threatening to activate the shock collar again. So much for not getting zapped anymore.

“There now. Was that so hard? C’mon, use your words for me if you’re not even gonna bother eating that good home cookin’ I whipped up for you.”

Mark huffed viciously and gritted his teeth at the man but otherwise made no move to speak. He didn’t care if it pissed the guy off or got him more shocks. If he couldn’t fight them physically, he was going to do it the only way he could. Do his best to ignore them; pretend they didn’t exist; never voluntarily cave to their games. Their banter. It didn’t really affect the other two much, but this one always lost his temper when Mark gave him the silent treatment. He could tell it was already getting under the kidnapper’s skin.

_Good._

“Y’know you’re really starting to piss me off here. I don’t know if you’ve suddenly become a masochist or if you’ve got some kind of electrokink but I don’t appreciate being ignored, you little fuck. **_Speak._** ”

The shock came again and Mark’s cry was strangled by his still clenched teeth. The man wasn’t satisfied this time. He strode over to Mark while he was still working to maintain his balance and abruptly kicked a boot into his back; directly between his shoulder blades. Mark fell forward with a grunt and landed face-first into the disgusting gruel they’d been practically force-feeding him since day one. Some of it went up his nose and he sputtered as he worked to sit up again without the use of his hands.

 _“Eat it.”_ Came the grousing command as the boot returned to his back; pressing down. He could feel the sole scrape across his skin and dig into a few of the bruises along his spine. Without his hands, he wasn’t able to push himself up or fight back. He couldn’t even resist. Mark gasped, inhaling some of the food, and immediately started to choke. Every attempt to cough the mess back up was impeded by the fact there was no empty air to suck in as a replacement. He squirmed and wiggled and _heaved_ in an effort to dislodge the man to no avail. Desperate and starting to suffocate in the mush, Mark forced down a mouthful or two past all of his coughing. “That’s better.”

Mark still couldn’t sit up when the weight left his back so he rolled his body over instead. Landing hard on his shoulder, he coughed up some more of the gruel and did his best to draw in proper lungfuls of air. All the while, the man leered down at him with his thumb still resting over the remote’s trigger. “Marky, Marky, Markimoo. Whatever are we gonna do with you? So stubborn. So undisciplined. So reckless. Guess all that attitude you pull in your videos really isn’t an act, huh? Too bad it ain’t gonna do anything but make your life harder here. Just give it up already.”

Glowering up at the man even as he worked to get his breath back, Mark still didn’t speak. All of this was just a ploy to get his captor exactly what he wanted. Mark was having none of it. Gathering up some of the food still caught in his cheek, he spat it crookedly at the kidnapper’s boots. It landed on the leg of his dark jeans and Mark mustered up the cheekiest grin he could manage after nearly choking to death on protein mush.

He got a set of narrowed eyes and another shock for his troubles. “Eatcher damn food and wipe that smug grin off yer face, brat.” When Mark did nothing of the sort, he got a good kick to the jaw.

Mark could only wonder how many days it had been and how many days he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	29. Picture 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Non-consensual Hair Pulling, Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Gagging

An extra picture in place of the usual video clip. No one could say for certain if it was an accident or done on purpose to draw out the scene and increase the audience’s anticipation. Some theorized they were waiting for a thousand hits. Whether that drove the counter up slower or fast was anyone’s guess.

Yet for now, there was a picture. One more view of Mark as the kidnappers prepared for their next big scene.

It was another close-up of Mark’s face, but from a different angle. The camera was poised at Mark’s shoulder with his face forced painfully towards it by a gloved hand gripping at his hair. His assailant was also tipping his head slightly backwards; exposing his throat and making Mark appear more vulnerable. As if he wasn’t already vulnerable enough strung up to the ceiling in nothing but his birthday suit.

Some kind of dirty rag, twisted and knotted, had been forced between Mark’s teeth. Tied up at the back of his head in a makeshift gag to truly silence him for the first time. It only cemented the fact there was going to be screaming.

However, though Mark’s fear had redoubled, his stubborn determination hadn’t waned an inch. He stared resolutely into the camera with the same fire in his eyes; squinted slightly from the pain. But confidence was easy to hold onto before whip came down.


	30. No Audio Clip 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Whipping, Bruising, Nudity, Non-consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Spanking, Sexual Molestation, Psychological Abuse, Groping, Rape Implications

Over a minute of footage. The theorists had been right. As if in some grand celebration of a new milestone, the next clip was posted as the counter ticked into the quadruple digits.

Instead of starting out with Mark’s attacker circling him or standing behind him menacingly with the flog, the clip began after the kidnapper had already started. It was impossible to tell just how many times he’d hit Mark before they began recording but it was definitely more than once. Mark’s bruised back was already turning a bright red from the abuse of the snappy leather. Streaks where a strap had made contact with extra force stood out against the canvas of deep blues and purples; blacks and sickly greens.

The kidnapper didn’t miss a beat. He continued swinging the flog as if nothing had changed. Standing far enough behind Mark so that every crack of the flog against his skin could be viewed clearly. He wasn’t pulling any punches.

Mark jerked, spasmed, twitched and stumbled with every hit. The severity of his reaction depended on where the flog happened to land; purple and blue bruises were the worst. He’d flinch away if the straps happened to curl over his exposed sides. He was clenching his teeth hard around his gag and performing some mockery of a dance as the ropes above stopped him from ever standing surely on his feet. From the barely noticeable flex of his throat, it would come as no surprise that Mark was likely screaming.

The man went about flogging Mark for most of the video. He focused primarily on his back until leather broke the skin and vicious welts formed. Then he went seeking new territory.

Snapping the leather over the curves of Mark’s shoulders and ribs to send him jostling. He sideswiped the backs of Mark’s thighs and knees until he was nearly bent in half trying to flee the sting. When he got bored with Mark’s backside, the man trailed around to the front. The camera followed.

From the front, Mark’s face was now visible to the audience. The fire hadn’t left exhausted brown eyes but the strength in them went no further. His face was crumpled with pain and glistening from so many tears. Snot dribbled down to join the wetness already soaking his gag while he stared down the man with the flog. The “stand-off” didn’t last more than a couple of seconds. Obviously, his attacker was enjoying himself and wanted to keep “playing”.

The whip cracked out again- silent for the audience. It caught Mark across the chest and he flinched; clenching his jaw and screwing his eyes shut in pain. The man gave him no reprieve.

He brought the flog across Mark’s chest and sensitive nipples several more times before dipping lower to the still defined muscles of his abdomen. The man flogged and flogged; brushing over Mark’s thighs again from the front and narrowly missing Mark’s penis. There was a pause. Then the flog hit Mark’s groin deliberately; triggering a ragged howl as Mark’s head tipped back. His entire body flailed against the ropes keeping him upright and then he sagged. The muscles in his throat were still moving, but now the vocalizations were more likely a whimper or groan.

Looking quite pleased with himself, the man returned to Mark’s back. He gave his ass a few more rough hits with the flog before abandoning the implement in favor of his own hands.

A harsh smack came across Mark’s reddened ass and his head dipped back with another silent cry. Unsatisfied, the kidnapper removed his gloves and tossed them away as well. Then he moved in close until he could press his crotch directly to the irritated cleft of Mark’s ass. Slowly rolling his hips forward in a gentle humping gesture that set Mark to rocking. His head ducked down in what was probably a sob.

The kidnapper spoke; lips moving without the sound while he ground his hips into Mark. His hands, now bare, continued to shamelessly spank and grope at the sides of Mark’s ass. Without hesitation, he followed up a particularly spine-chilling leer with a lick that followed the curve of Mark’s spine. Mark’s knees buckled and the footage ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, a thousand hits! And it hasn't even been two weeks! That's incredible. That's amazing. That's... well, a little alarming, but I won't point out exactly why. :)


	31. 2/5: Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smile for the camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Non-consensual Breathplay, Non-consensual Fondling/Molestation, Non-consensual Humiliation, Non-consensual Bondage, Bruising Mention, Biting Mention, Shock Collar Use, Hair Pulling, Non-consensual Oral Sex Implications

“No! No!! Stop, god, stopnmpgh!!” Mark panicked as a hand firmly wedged itself over his mouth and nose. His breathing was abruptly cut-off by the blockage but still the man at his back continued with his torment, as if Mark hadn’t already been breathing short and heavy with his forced arousal. Just a few seconds of oxygen loss was making his head start to spin.

He was at the mercy of the other man. Not the one that liked to finger his shock collar remote and get a reaction; the man that always put hands on him. Always felt up his weakening muscles and grabbed at his hair. The one ignoring didn’t work on because it just meant Mark was complying, meant he was laying down and letting this complete stranger have his way with him.

Struggling didn’t work very well either. Usually, it just made his situation worse. Instead of violence, this one would respond with more physical restraints. More eager groping and heavy petting. He would pull Mark close, whisper in his ear and leave bites that would bruise and hurt for _days._

Shock collar man wasn’t present, but cameraman was. He was precisely the reason Mark was struggling so much to begin with. They’d finally told him the footage they were recording was being posted up for the world to see; that the public could easily find the link to their little website and already had, that his image was being shared across every social media platform available and people were loving it- loving _him._ They couldn’t get enough and now they were giving the people _more_.

Mark was devastated and mortified beyond expressing. He wiggled and tried to buck his legs but the ropes the man had used on him for this scene were too tight. It wasn’t just his wrists for once; lengths of the bright pink material were wrapped around his torso, his knees, his ankles. His limbs were brought together in a hogtie that left him utterly helpless and he hated it.

Posed on his side with his front facing the ever eager camera(man), Mark’s abuser had settled behind him and set to work. His hands felt Mark up from head to toe, his hard-on already grinding against Mark's bare ass through the jeans he wore and then, shamelessly, taking Mark's dick into hand. Mark had screamed and jerked and _thrashed_ against the man but he remained like a brick wall at his back. His hand never slipped as he maintained a firm, almost _harsh,_ grasp on Mark’s dick. He stroked it with all the care of a lover and none of the emotion. Only lust and hunger seeped from those eyes as they watched Mark squirm.

He still couldn’t breathe. Mark felt how hot and red his face must have become from the lack of oxygen but the man wasn’t letting up and he felt light-headed. His struggles had petered out as his body silently fought to stay awake; to stay alive. The man behind him chuckled darkly. “Y’make too much damn noise. Much as I like hearin’ ya beg. Think next time I’ll bring a gag along or somethin’.”

Mark’s vision was starting to fade when the hand _finally_ left his face. He dragged in a desperate gasp and then proceeded to choke on it as the cameraman triggered his shock collar. His higher pitched snickering taunted Mark as he tried to remember how to breathe. Mark’s dick twitched in his abuser’s hand, conflicted, and he got a far too pleasurable squeeze for the reaction. However, the man fondling him was scowling.

“What the fuck? Leave him alone, asshole. This is my time with him. I specifically didn’t grab that shitass remote for a reason. Just sit there and film me molestin’ him like you’re getting paid to do.”

“Oh fuck off. You two act like you’re the only ones allowed to have any fun but _I’m_ here too. Just because I’m paid to take the pictures doesn’t mean I can’t play with the goods. Besides, that was a _beautiful_ shot. You should have seen his face-”

“Of course I saw his fuckin’ face. I’m practically jackin’ off to it over here. But I don’t give a fuck if it was sexy as Hell or ‘aesthetically pleasing’. You leave him alone when I’m havin’ my fun. Got it??”

“ _Fine._ Just hurry up and get him to cum already. You know how _he_ gets when we film scenes without him.”

“Yeah, yeah. Little pissbaby. Thinks he can do whatever he wants just ‘cause he owns the damn place….”

Banter like this between two or more of the kidnappers had become commonplace for Mark. Most of the time, he was too out of it to really register anything they were saying. Others, he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. He only paid attention to their squabbling if he was seeking even an inkling of amusement in his living nightmare. Honestly, if it were a movie and he wasn’t the unfortunate star, listening to them would have been hilarious. They were like some Hellish version of the Three Stooges; it was ridiculous.

That didn’t stop one of them from inching closer to zoom in on his face like he was some priceless work of art, or the other from happily fondling his balls before going right back to fisting at his dick like it was his dying desire. Mark, still dizzy from it all and unable to stave off his body’s natural reactions to the rough pleasure, ended up climaxing with a hoarse cry. His hips jerked forward into the man’s hand as his cum spurted across the padded floor.

“Goddamn if he isn’t gorgeous like this.”

“Back the fuck up I ain’t done yet.”

Mark was still crashing down from his brief high when his hair was grabbed up in a tight fist and he yipped in pain when his head was jerked roughly back. The man’s other hand had released his dick and was instead groping at his ass. The scowl had been replaced with that same leer that made Mark’s insides shudder and melt with revulsion. The leer that made him feel more like an object than a person. The grin slowly spreading across his attacker’s face set ice into his veins.

“‘M still hard, y’know. How about we make up for not havin’ a gag by putting that loud mouth of yours to good use? That’ll make for some shockin’ footage….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	32. Picture 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Whipping Aftermath, Welts, Bruising, Blood, Torture Implications

The next picture had to be immediately after the flogging. Mark’s back was on display again; this time without the supplementary view of his ass.

The expanse of skin was now riddled with broad stripes of white and red. Welts framed bruises and several slim trickles of blood gleamed in the low light of the dingy room. It was a horrifying sight all on its own. A striking difference from the picture that was taken before.

Besides Mark’s back, there was only one other point of interest in the picture. A box of common table salt.


	33. 2/9: Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark hopes Jack had a very happy birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Mentions of Psychological Abuse, Slipping Sanity Implications, Starvation/Dehydration Implications, Descriptions of Malnutrition, Bone Breaking Mention, Non-consensual Oral Sex Mention, Non-consensual Sexual Molestation Mention, Physical Abuse, Non-consensual Objectification, Non-consensual Ownership Mention, Conditioning/Brainwashing Implications

“Oh god, I am never getting out of here….”

Mark’s voice wheezed out of him in the darkness. They’d turned out the lights on a whim the last time they left and had yet to return. They would leave him in the dark like that sometimes; just for kicks. Just to mess with him and see how paranoid he could get in the silence. It was so much easier for the imagination to run wild when a person couldn’t see their surroundings. It didn’t matter if Mark knew how they looked by heart or if he _knew_ he was alone when the lights went out.

In the darkness with nothing keeping him company but his hunger, his thirst, the constant _pain_ from his injuries it was all too easy for his mind to play tricks on him. His ears picked up nonsensical whispers and groans that had probably slipped from his own lips. He mostly tried to keep his eyes closed because whenever they would open, he would see figures moving about in the shadows. Years of horror games gave his mind plenty of memories to work with- on top of the fresh, _real life_ horror he’d been dealing with for what must be weeks. Had it been a month yet? He felt as if it could have been _years._

Mark was alone. His hunger and thirst were endless as they only supplied food and water once a day- if they happened to remember. Occasionally, they’d “forget” the food. When they _did_ remember to feed him it was barely edible mash, as if they threw everything into a blender and dumped it in a bowl. He’d gotten to the point where he didn’t care enough to refuse what they gave him.

He could feel his muscle starting to wane already. Nothing significant or especially noticeable, but he could _feel_ it. He could feel his body had begun to cannibalize itself to make up for the lack of proper nutrition. Mark’s skin was beginning to lose its color and the red was draining out of his hair in some twisted visual representation of his actual vitality. Even the black strands hung limp, lifeless and greasy with nothing more than the occasional bucket of cold water to wash them; wash _him._ With heavy bags under his eyes and a face full of gritty stubble, Mark knew he must look filthy. He was starting not to care so much about that, either.

How could he care for such trivial things? They’d broken his _finger._ They made him suck their dicks. They jacked off over his body and put him into whatever pose they saw fit. They hadn’t even bothered to restrain him this time before they left him alone. As if he could do anything, as if Mark could even begin to stop them.

He couldn’t stop them from taking pictures for Jack, couldn’t stop them from sending the photos, couldn’t stop those men from dragging Jack deeper into this shipping mess. Mark was _still_ reeling from the introduction of what they were _really_ planning to do. The “surprise” they’d given him while manipulating his limbs and tying him down that day. (Night? He had no idea.) It wasn’t just his torment they were after, nor his humiliation. The memory flitted across his closed eyelids; unbidden.

_“Now we’re gonna give your new master a little update on how his future toy is doing.”_

_“What??”_

_“Oh come on, now you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise! We weren’t supposed to tell him until_ **_after_ ** _shooting.”_

 _“Oh whatever. This’ll make it all the more fun if you ask me. Seeing the expressions on his face while he models for us. For **jacksepticeye**_ ** _._ ** _”_

_“What?!”_

_“Stop fucking teasing him and just spill it already.  He won’t hold still.”_

_“You didn’t think we were just doing this for shits and giggles now, did you Markimoo?”_

_“Don’t call me that-”_

Mark’s jaw still ached terribly from the kick it had gotten for that comment. The Sadist, as he’d come to call one of them, always loved kicking his face in when he talked back. He rubbed gently at the bruise while the memory continued.

 _“Shut it. Anyway, yeah, it is kind’ve for shits and giggles. But mostly we’re supposed to be training you. We’re gonna make all your wildest dreams come true- Jack’s too. And your fangirls. Because they just_ **_love_ ** _that Septiplier shit, don’t they?”_

 _“So here’s how it goes, Markimoo.” The other one, The Pervert, he’d crouched down to grasp at Mark’s chin. In contrast to his partner, he always loved touching Mark’s face; the creep. “We’re gonna break you. We’re gonna break you until you can’t even remember_ **_who you are_ ** _or what you love. And then we’re gonna build you from the ground up to be the perfect little toy for your ‘soulmate’, ugh._ **_Jackaboy._ ** _And you’re gonna learn how to love_ **_every fucking second of it._ ** _”_

Mark curled up tighter in his preferred corner of the room. They were all the same, but after hours upon hours of isolation he’d noticed this one was the cleanest (not that it was saying much). His breath hitched as he thought of Jack; receiving the envelope, seeing the pictures, being disgusted. Repulsed by what they’d done to Mark. Repulsed _by Mark_  andwhat he was becoming. The tears started but he only had enough in him for a few brief trickles. The rest were all dry sobs that echoed around the emptiness of his padded prison.

He wasn’t getting out of this. He wasn’t leaving that room as the same person who was dragged into it. Jack was going to find him on his doorstep, dead or alive, and he wouldn’t be the Mark that Jack remembered. That _anyone_ remembered. They were going to _ruin_ him and he was already looking the part.

“I’m sorry, Sean… godfuck, I’m so sorry… I’m sorry I ever let it get like this…. I-I’m sorry I’m gonna ruin your birthday, please… please don’t cry… please… I’m sorry….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday the 13th everybody. ;) Boy what a laundry list of warnings this one had but hey, I'm tryin' to cover my bases here.
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	34. Picture 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Torture Implications

It was like the kidnappers were mocking Mark’s community for their love of his selfies and pictures of his beautiful face in general.

Yet another close-up of Mark’s face with that same level of subtle artistic elegance put into the photography. Like the last, this one was a side-shot. However, there were no accessories like gags or wayward hands tugging at scraggly locks. The only focal point of the entire picture was the profile of Mark’s face.

Screaming in utmost agony.

His one visible eye was wide to the point it must have been uncomfortable and Mark’s jaw was dropped with lips pulled back to fully let loose what pain he must be experiencing. There were fresh tears brimming his eye while his expression, besides suffering, could only be described as despaired and questioning; as if the ceiling would hold answers for why he was being tortured like this.

Apparently, his kidnappers had found a use for that box of salt.


	35. Picture 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Bruising, Drugging, Chloroform, Bondage, Non-con

Hundreds of hits and nothing had changed. Mark was still in the same position with the same brutalized, _agonized_ appearance. However, there were indicators that things were finally about to shift. The audience could hope they were for the better.

The realists knew it probably was not.

The kidnapper was pressed up flat behind Mark again; body to body, chest to back. Except the camera was pointed at Mark from the front. Showing off his fully bruised and battered glory while black gloved hands were snaked around his chest. One loosely gripped a very large roll of bubblegum pink duct tape.

The other was roughly pressing a dirty rag over Mark’s mouth and nose. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

Mark was his own unique brand of genius, but one way or another he had figured things out too. The struggle was just a snapshot; frozen in time while the rest remained out of reach for viewers. Mark’s hands were still bound up above his head and thus were useless. His muscular torso was twisted slightly; neck straining to dislodge the kidnapper’s hold. Mark’s eyes were at last squeezed tightly shut but with them went that glimmer of resolve. There was a sort of grim acceptance was more noticeable in his brows.

Like the audience, Mark knew he was fighting a losing battle and that it would only be a matter of time.


	36. 3/18: Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is a very good boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: NON-CON, Malnutrition, Dehydration, Dehumanization, Torture Mention, Nudity, Slipping Sanity, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Torture Mention, Bondage Mention, Blood, Violence, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Rape Mention, Humiliation, Suicidal Thoughts, Bruising, Animal Abuse Mention, Animal Death Mention, Animal Neglect Mention, Petplay, Conditioning Mention, Obedience Training Mention, Collaring, Choking, Hair Pulling, Throat Fucking, Blowjob, Facial, Forced Swallowing

What day was it?

Mark had long ago stopped attempting to keep track of time. He could only hope and pray that the days were falling away fast towards that magical number: ninety. The day the Ship Sinker _always_ returned his victims- dead or alive. If he could just hold out until then, it would all be over. He’d be free. Any consequences that followed would be bliss in comparison to this living Hell.

But for all Mark knew, it could still be the first _month._ There was absolutely no concept of time in the room. Any he tried to contrive- like the appearances of his captors or feeding times- rapidly crumbled away as he just… lost the ability to care.

With malnutrition, varying levels of dehydration, torture and pure dehumanization Mark had literally lost the ability to use that much of his cognitive ability. His body was wasting away from neglect and abuse; and so was his mind. Trapped mostly alone in the same room for days on end with nothing but his naked body or various restraints and toys meant to harm him while the men were gone. Left bound, sexually teased, soaking wet, bloody, in the dark; all of it chipped steadily away at his psyche.

The stint with the damn mannequin had nearly driven him insane (mostly from sleep deprivation).

Anything Mark had left was geared purely towards surviving. If it didn’t help him continue living then it didn’t matter enough to think about for very long. His body cannibalized itself and his mind followed suit in a more metaphorical manner. Passions? Cast aside. Personality? Subdued for safety. Things like time, family, friends? Useless. Unhelpful. _Dangerous._

Mark didn’t want to think of how the world saw him by that point. All the pictures and videos of him that must be spread far and wide across the Internet. All the people- whether they cared for him or not- witnessing his beatings, his humiliation, his _rape._ Sometimes he wondered what the point even was to keep _going._

His moms wouldn’t want him dead. Thomas wouldn’t want him dead. Surely, a few of his good friends would be upset to see him go. Jack would… nevermind Jack. Mark couldn’t think about Jack, not without wanting to curl up and sob and he hurt too much for that right now.

There were people that would want him to survive. He supposed that was reason enough to keep going. After all, Mark had come this far. It would be like quitting a particularly difficult video game halfway through. Okay, so Mark _had_ done that, but this wasn’t a game; it was his life. He wouldn’t be able to pick it back up and try again. He couldn’t quit; he _couldn’t._

What other reasons were there to keep going? Chica? Of course. _Chica._ His poor, beloved puppershnupp who was probably missing him something fierce. Mark hoped someone was taking good care of her. Tyler maybe. Surely he would have gone to Mark’s house and picked her up. They wouldn’t just leave her there alone to starve. No, no. Too many people loved Chica for that to happen. She was fine. Lonely and sad and missing him, but fine. Mark could survive for her. He could.

The dreaded sound of the door creaking open interrupted Mark’s contemplation. He no longer flinched or tensed in response to it. What was the point? He’d get worked up sooner or later; might as well try to relax for the sparse few seconds he had left before they tried out new ways to ruin his body, break his mind, fuck any hole that they pleased.

Mark remained in his slightly curled up position in his usual corner of the room. His eyes stared ahead listlessly even when booted feet entered their field of view. He didn’t bother looking up at the man.

 _Men._ There were three of them. Internally, Mark cringed and bemoaned his luck. Three of them was never good; three of them was always the _worst._ Three of them meant more of Mark’s suffering was going to be caught on film and uploaded to the website. Aching and exhausted, Mark couldn’t find it in himself to so much as shrink away anymore. He just laid there while the cameraman got into position and started rolling.

“Sit up, **_Markimoo._** Got somethin’ to show ya.”

Mark didn’t move. The man- The Rapist, by the sound of his voice- didn’t have patience for his “games” today. A swift but light stomp to Mark’s already bruised ribs set his body into sluggish motion. He forced his arms beneath him so he could sit up with a wheezing grunt; trembling. He still refused to look up at the man’s face. He already knew it would just be a smirk or leer.

“Good boy. Now, on your knees. Unless you need more incentive?”

“Told ya we should’ve left the damn shock collar on him. He was a lot more obedient with it on.”

“Idiot. You know that was just a training collar. Now we’ve got the real deal and I didn’t want the hassle of getting your favorite toy off him.”

Their banter went into one of Mark's ears and straight out the other. Trying to pick out anything helpful or possible hints at what they were going to put him through next was pointless. He would only psyche himself out, so he got on his knees and kept his gaze resolutely forward.

“ ** _Markimoo._** Look at me.”

Mark twitched.

“I _said._ ** _Look at me._** ”

Mark noticed the slight lift of the man’s leg and quickly complied before he could be kicked again- or worse. He forced his gaze upwards and was thankful his lack of glasses made his captor’s expression harder to discern. If he let his eyes unfocus then it all just became a black blur. However, a flash of familiar pink snapped his attention front and center. Mark squinted. Then any remaining color in his face trickled away.

“Oho. Look at that response! You recognize this, don’t you, boy? Belonged to a friend of yours. I think you know the one.”

No, no, no. Oh god no. Mark couldn’t believe it. They had to messing with him. That couldn’t be _Chica’s_ collar. Not his sweet, precious Chica. Its outline was blurry but Mark swore the accessory looked identical to the one he’d given his beloved pup, tags and all. His jaw had dropped slightly in shock and horror; mouth dry.

“Real sweet thing. Too bad I had to put her down. Should have heard the noises she was making every time I kicked her in the ribs. Thought she’d break the windows when I cut her open with my knife.”

 _No. No!!!_ Mark felt his stomach twist with nausea for the first time in- weeks? Days?? He didn’t know, but it was a long time. Mark was shaking his head before he could really comprehend the action, refusing to believe; refusing to consider the fact Chica might _actually_ be dead, or harmed. Anything other than happy and content and perfectly _safe._ Tyler had her. Tyler _must_ have her.

“I don’t even think the world knows she’s gone. Hell, I found her all alone in your home, you know. Malnourished and depressed and just **begging** for attention. I only gave her what she wanted. And no one’s gonna find the pieces.”

No one had come for Chica?? They’d just left her in his house all alone to _die?_ Had everyone been so focused on his kidnapping that they just _forgot??_ How long had it actually been? Had even less time passed than Mark hoped? If Chica had truly been left alone and not already been dead by now… unless they’d had her collar for _weeks_ and were just biding their time. Had Chica been dead since those first few days of Mark’s forced captivity and he didn’t even _know?_

The tears were starting to fall now, fast, hot and unbidden as Mark’s lips quivered and a sob welled up in his throat. He hated crying in front of these men, but there was no helping it this time. Not at the prospect of Chica being forgotten; left for dead; _t_ _ortured to death._ The sob bubbled out, wet and ragged, and Mark hunched over in his growing despair.

Still, what little reasoning remained of his brain argued, there was a chance they were just lying! Mark had learned the hard way several times in the past not to take everything they claimed at face value. He snuffled and attempted to speak in a croak past his sobs. “Y.. you’re lying… you’re _lying,_ they wouldn’t have f-forgotten her. They wouldn’t. S-she’s safe, and she’s fine, and… you’re just fucking with me! You can’t fool m-me with some store bought collar!” Mark’s burst of confidence in some effort to prove them wrong was rewarded with a swift and powerful backhand to an already bruised cheek. The force sent him sprawling across the floor again.

“Don’t raise your voice to your master, pup. We trained you better than that. Don’t believe us about your dumb mutt? Here. Take a look for yourself.”

Mark flinched as the man kneeled down to his level. He propped himself up onto his elbows while the collar was shoved callously in his face. He jerked his head back with a soft sputter and gave a few rapid blinks. Slowly, with tears still trickling down his cheeks and breaths quick, Mark squinted to make out the dog tags jingling before him.

Chica’s information; all of it. His name, his address, his phone number- still Mark doubted. Those men had all that information. They could have printed it out on a tag themselves, except…

Except Mark recognized the clasp keeping the tag attached to the collar. It wasn’t the one that normally came with it, because Chica had broken it off. Rather than go and buy entirely new tags, Mark had pulled a MacGyver and fashioned a new clasp himself. Even if they’d mimicked him, there’s no way they would know that tiny, minuscule detail. It had to be Chica’s collar, which meant they had to have gotten to Chica, which meant…

“No…”

“Believe it, you little fuck. We went to your house, we got to your bitch, and we slit her precious little throat.” The Sadist, the other man standing to the side and not filming, always had to toss in his own sick and twisted comments. Mark hated him.

“You’re pretty sick man, y’know that? Go jerk off to killing puppies or something.” At least The Rapist seemed to agree with Mark; not that it meant anything.

Mark still didn’t want to believe it, but he didn’t have much choice. The evidence was too compelling. Even if they lied about Chica being forgotten and neglected, they _had_ gotten to her and he had not a doubt in his mind they would kill her after everything they had done to him. Did Tyler wake up one morning, horrified to find her remains scattered around his living room? No, they said no one would ever find her. Maybe Tyler thought she got out somehow. Maybe he was searching all of L.A. for her.

But she was dead. Chica was _dead_ and it was technically Mark’s fault, because they’d killed her to further break _him._ If it wasn’t for him, Chica would still be alive. She wouldn’t have suffered anything. Mark’s blood boiled with a need to avenge his sweet baby girl, but he didn’t have the energy to act on it anymore. He hadn’t hosted enough strength to attack his captors for ages now.

That left him with nothing to do but wallow in his rage and rapidly swelling despair. Mark couldn’t bring Chica back. He couldn’t check to see for his own eyes if what they claimed was true. He couldn’t make them pay for harming a single golden hair on her precious head. He was _useless._ Mark couldn’t even cry in peace because as always, his kidnappers chugged right along with their plans regardless of his feelings or current state.

“But hey, s’all right she’s dead. We really needed her collar for you. It’s not like you deserve a brand new one or anything. With this, we can take your training to the final phase. We decided poor, lonely Jack would be better off with a pet than a toy. You’d make the perfect companion. Once you learn how to service your new master’s every need....”

Mark’s head snapped up at that; as the clasp of the collar itself was popped open. His brown eyes widened with a fresh wave of shock. “No.” He shook his head and flung himself back away from the man with a newfound fervor. “No!! Fuck you! _No!_ ” As if the shock collar hadn’t been bad enough. As if learning of Chica’s demise wasn’t _bad enough._ Now they wanted to put his deceased dog’s collar on him? Mark couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t. It had been a while since he tried putting his foot down but now was as good a time as any.

His sudden fear only excited The Rapist, though. That awful grin was back on his face. “I thought we’d already established _you don’t get a damn choice,_ ** _Markimoo._** You’re putting this collar on whether you like it or not. And then we’re gonna make you _love_ it. Now hold still and don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be!”

Mark yelped as the man lunged for him and threw himself to the side; narrowly dodging. He scrambled to at least get on all-fours while putting distance between himself and his attacker. The cameraman, as always, made no move to help. He merely followed the action with his camcorder while The Rapist laughed and proceeded to chase. They all knew Mark’s efforts were for naught. They knew he would be caught, and then punished for having enough gall to deny them at all. The Rapist _loved_ drawing out Mark’s emotional torment in this way and for the cameraman, it was good footage.

The Sadist, however, wasn’t having it. Ever the impatient, volatile man, he cut-off Mark’s path and drove his knee straight into the side of Mark’s face. Mark crumpled with a pained cry and then his attackers were on him. The Sadist pressed a knee into his spine and pushed on his shoulders until he swore the joints were liable to pop right out. Mark choked.

“I _warned_ ya about making things more difficult….” The Rapist muttered as he came around to Mark’s side. There was nothing Mark could do to stop him from wrapping the collar around his throat. He squirmed, sobbing, only to have his next breath cut short with a gasp as the collar was tightened. Too tight; he couldn’t breathe. Mark gaped like a fish, kicked his legs, tried to buck the men off but he could do nothing. Just like with Chica.

He wasn’t sure if the fact they _didn’t_ want him dead yet was a solace or a curse. The collar was loosened when Mark’s vision grew spotty and he sucked in great gulps of air; blinking back stars. It was tighter than it should be when the clasp was locked into place, but Mark could still breathe. The accessory felt foreign and itchy around his neck;  _w_ _rong._ This was _Chica’s_ collar. It probably still had some of her fur on it. It still _smelled_ like her. Mark hiccuped another sob but there was no time to adjust or grieve.

The weight was retreating from his back and shoulders. He didn’t have the opportunity to so much as twitch before a hand was in his hair; dragging him back up onto his knees. He shouted and yelled as more of the greasy hairs were ripped out of his scalp. Mark’s eyes burned with the need for tears but he’d already exhausted what little water he had to spare for them. All that remained were dry sobs and wet sniffles; all caught on tape for the world to see.

“Look at you in your brand new collar. How cute. It really suits you, **_Markimoo._** How about you thank your master for giving you such a gift, huh? Show me how grateful you are.” It was The Rapist. His hand was in Mark’s hair; forcing Mark’s face obscenely into his clothed crotch. When Mark didn’t act, he gave dark locks another vicious tug. “I said _show me your damn appreciation._ ”

Mark couldn’t even scream. He was choking on his own sobs but he fumbled at the button and zipper of the dark jeans. He was overwhelmed. He needed to be alone again and they wouldn’t leave unless he gave them what they wanted. If he just did what they wanted, they would go away.

“Good boy, **_Markimoo,_** good boy…”

He shuddered with revulsion at the praise; at the rock hard erection that slipped down in front of him as he pulled on the man’s boxers. No matter how many times he came face-to-face with any of their dicks, he never quite got over his disgust, but that would get him nowhere here. Mark needed to get him off so he would leave, which shouldn’t be a problem. He’d gotten pretty damn good at giving blowjobs, unfortunately.

Mark barely had his mouth on it when the man gripped the back of his head and shoved all the way in to the hilt. It wasn’t the first time, but Mark still gagged a little. He used to struggle and fight and claw at whatever part of his molester he could reach. Now, he just shivered and swallowed and hoped the last breath he’d taken would be enough.

It was. Mark didn’t even have to bob his head; The Rapist was so excited to fuck his mouth that he did all the thrusting himself. Mark knew his throat would be killing him afterwards but at least he didn’t have to focus. He didn’t have to concentrate on the movements of his tongue or the placement of his teeth. He could just kneel there like a sex doll and take it. Mark kept his eyes screwed shut and tried not to think about how the tags of his new collar jingled with every rough thrust. Drool was dripping steadily down his chin but he didn’t bother trying to wipe it away.

“Such a good boy, **_Markimoo_**. Taking your master’s cock. That’s a very good boy. Maybe we’ll actually feed you today.”

He was talking to Mark like a dog. They were treating Mark _like a dog._ He would have sobbed again if he wasn’t so busy just trying to keep up his breaths. They really planned on turning him into a dog. A dog wearing _his own dead dog’s fucking collar._ Mark wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t. His stomach was empty and it rumbled desperately at the prospect of any sustenance whatsoever; he needed food.

When the man came, he forced Mark’s face up against his crotch until Mark’s nose was buried in coarse pubic hair. He choked and gagged at the now familiar sensation of hot, sticky cum shooting directly down his throat. Rather than end it there, The Rapist was quick to pull out at the last moment to send a spurt or two streaking across Mark’s face.

“Count yourself fed.”

Nothing new. It was nothing new besides the collar around his neck yet somehow that made it all the more degrading as fingers combed through his greasy hair; urged his face towards the camera so the audience could fully take in how debauched their idol had become. Mark wished he could find it in himself to care the way he used to. That he could at least attempt to turn his face away; maintain some small smidgen of dignity.

Ha. What dignity? Mark had lost all of that a long time ago. Listless, panting and dripping various bodily fluids, Mark knew he looked a mess. At the back of his mind, he searched for the list of reasons he’d come up with to keep going.

Chica was gone from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I feel like some of you guys got what you wanted out of this chapter. :)
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	37. Picture 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Nudity, Bondage, Drugging Mention, Humiliation, Bruising, Blood

As expected, the pink tape in the last photo hadn’t merely been for show.

Mark was on the floor again in this shot; the angle taken from directly above his prone form. Closed eyes, a slightly open mouth and limp limbs all conveyed he was still unconscious from the chloroform. Whether the kidnappers had drugged him to avoid another fight or just purely for kicks was anyone’s guess, but it was certainly easier binding someone who was out cold.

The pink tape had been used in excess. Far more than was strictly necessary to restrain human limbs was wrapped in several layers against Mark’s bare skin. His legs had been folded into a frog tie with his arms pulled tightly behind him in a box tie; arms completely buried in pink tape from fingers to elbows. There would be no wiggling out of this one.

Mark’s body had been purposefully positioned in a manner to show off _everything._ His bloodied, handsome face, the new restraints, the length of his flaccid penis resting between his legs and even his bared chest, still mottled with the fresh whip marks. There was more tape attached to these sensitive, _private_ places. A small strip around the head of his dick, barely concealing a small lump, and an X made of the pink tape over each of his nipples. The graininess of the image made any assumptions an uncertainty, but the specific placement of just a few strips seemed uncanny.

No one had any doubts there was more tape where that came from.


	38. No Audio Clip 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Blood, Drugging Mention, Bondage, Nudity, Humiliation, Sexual Abuse, Forced Orgasm, Bruising, Gagging, Blindfold, Partial Sensory Deprivation

Almost a minute and a half, this time. After how brutal the last clip had been, coupled with the latest photo, many people were bracing themselves for the worst.

At first, Mark was clearly still unconscious. He hadn’t moved an inch from his positioning in the picture and were it not for the rise and fall of his chest, he could have been mistaken for a corpse due to all the blood. Several seconds passed with Mark being the only subject in the scene, and then abruptly his body language shifted.

Mark’s previously slackened face- peaceful and unaware in his drugged sleep- twitched and regained some of its earlier tension. His brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth pulled back the barest of inches. His legs, still bound, had inched up as well. It was difficult to say if the movement had caused the near unnoticeable bounce of his dick or if the culprit was something else. More time passed, and as the little time lapse marker at the bottom of the clip chugged along, Mark’s movements became more frequent and agitated.

It wasn’t until nearly thirty seconds in that Mark’s eyes and mouth simultaneously snapped wide open with a full bodied jolt. His legs bucked backwards, launching his hips forward, and his back arched with the movement. Instantly, he cringed and recoiled into himself as his actions no doubt pulled and stretched at his latest injuries. Yet whatever was stimulating these sudden reactions didn’t seem to be letting up.

Mark squirmed a bit, rubbing his thighs together, and struggled against the tape immobilizing his arms. His expression was rapidly deteriorating from shock into distress warped by something more subtle. There was still a furrow to his brows, and his mouth continued gaping open with his breaths as if his attentions were focused in on something only he knew about. The audience was left guessing as Mark’s body flexed into as much of a bow shape as he could manage with all the tape; jaw dropping in what could only be a sharp cry. His dick, previously flaccid, was beginning to harden between his legs. Rapidly shaking his head, Mark pressed his thighs together and rolled away from the camera in some effort to conceal his shame. It did nothing to hide the visible trembles along his body.

The kidnappers weren’t having it, though. One stepped into view of the camera and over to Mark without any preamble. Roughly, he gripped at Mark’s shoulder, forcing him to face the camera once more. Mark’s mouth opened to let loose what looked like a sob, followed by the usual rapid movement of his lips that would signal some kind of begging. There were tears in his eyes as he shook his head again; forcing it up off the floor to shout more frantically at the man putting hands on him.

Whatever Mark said fell upon the same deaf ears as always. Two gloved hands grasped at his knees and pushed his legs apart just in time for another powerful buck from Mark’s hips. His head fell back against the stained padding with a silent wail as the tears steadily began to fall. There was a flush peeking through the gaps between bruises and welts across his skin; dick resting hard and exposed across his lower stomach. Mark sobbed, but the audience too had deaf ears.

Beyond keeping his legs apart and his body facing the camera, the masked man didn’t touch Mark. It was impossible to tell if he antagonized him verbally due to the angle, but throughout the scene Mark never stopped crying and pleading soundlessly for some kind of mercy. Eventually, drool was trickling from his chin; a similar fluid leaking out of his cock as his hips rolled into a repeated thrusting that left his muscles straining against the tape. Every stretch must have stung but still he writhed and bucked until he was launching his release out across his own stomach. His mouth hung open in a drawn out cry and at last he was released.

Rather than remove the now semi-obvious sources of Mark’s torment, the man went off-screen for a moment before returning with the roll of pink tape. Mark was still heaving great gasps for air; skin sweat-slicked and shivering where he lay half-sprawled on the floor. If he saw the man coming at him again, he didn’t have the energy or mind to retaliate.

The kidnapper kneeled behind Mark and jerked him up until Mark’s bicep could rest against one of his knees. Mark’s head briefly lolled, mouth agape, but he flinched at the arm wrapping around his shoulders; holding him in place. He’d barely moved his lips in some form of protest when tape was being savagely pulled between them. Mark jerked, but his captor pulled him back and began carelessly winding the tape around Mark’s head. He made no effort to fully cover Mark’s lips; merely forced them apart with several layers cutting across and between his teeth.

The hands moved up as Mark squirmed and tiredly kicked out his bound legs in some form of struggle. Tape covered his eyes in an equally thick layer and barely left room for his nose to fit between the two. Only then was the kidnapper satisfied enough to break off the tape again.

He let Mark’s body drop back to the floor. Mark immediately began to writhe, kick and squirm; rolling around in fright at his latest predicament. Not only was he blinded, but some of the tape had layered across his ears. He was no doubt having trouble pinpointing the kidnappers as his dick gave another jump. He arched his back up off the floor while the cameraman made a show of retreating from the scene. The lights in the room went out, and the audience could only assume Mark was left to his tape and torment as the clip silently ended.


	39. 4/17: Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: Drugging, Needles, Nudity, Collaring, Death Mention, Gore Mention, Self-Memory Suppression, Self-Sensory Suppression, Groping, Sexual Molestation, Dehumanization, Broken Bone, Bondage, Gagging, Neglect Mention, Malnutrition Mention, Sensory Deprivation, Partial Mummification

The last few… days? Hours? Whatever questionable expanse of time it had been were mostly a blur to Mark.

It started with the men- _all of them-_ coming into the room; nothing new. Mark was too exhausted to so much as blink at their arrival. He only hoped anything they had planned for him wouldn’t require much effort on his part. That it would be quick, painless or not, and they would just leave him alone again. He was too sick and frail to do much of anything for them at that point. His shitty immune system had finally broken down and caught something foul- not that they cared.

There were no words, no cameras; nothing but a sharp prick after one of them kneeled down beside Mark’s prone form. It was a familiar sting and Mark let the darkness swallow him up without resistance. At least if they were drugging him into unconsciousness he wouldn’t feel anything for a while.

After that instance, time had passed in a spotty blur of semi-consciousness for Mark. He mostly slept. Between syringes of whatever they were pumping him with he would have fleeting views and sensations. His body would be sluggish, numb and uncooperative; his tongue was a swollen mass in his mouth. There was nothing Mark could do but peer around with blurry eyes and breathe while he waited for them- he swore he only ever saw one though?- to take notice. During these snippets of semi-clarity he always found himself in a new place; a new position with sights and smells and sounds he didn’t recognize.

He wasn’t in the room; not anymore. Which meant it must be _that day._ They must be taking him to… to…

_Jack._

They were taking him to Ireland. Mark had no idea how they managed it without getting completely busted, but they must have. It wouldn’t have taken so long to cart him off to somewhere else in the States, and it was their M.O. Drop the victim off at their “partner’s” doorstep- or driveway.

It was dark and cold when Mark was finally allowed an extended period of consciousness. He had no idea where they were but it was probably an ocean away from his home country. It could be Jack’s city; it could be _anywhere,_ but it was cold and damp and Mark was still naked beyond the collar around his neck. It did nothing to provide warmth and neither did those men. As far as they were concerned, Mark could die. Hannah Hart hadn’t exactly been alive when she was given back.

Were they going to gut Mark too? Splay him open like a fish on the pavement for Jack to find when he left his house that morning? Looking for him? Hoping to find him alive?

Mark wasn’t sure he very much cared whether he lived or died at that point, but he hoped they wouldn’t kill him. If only for Jack’s sake. He didn’t deserve to find any kind of corpse, let alone the body of a close friend just laying on his doorstep. It would traumatize and haunt him for life.

They didn’t kill Mark.

_They_ weren’t there at all. It was at this point Mark realized there was only one man with him, and he could tell from body shape alone he wasn’t any of the men that had tortured him in that room. He looked vaguely familiar, actually, but in Mark’s current state coupled with the lack of his glasses there would be no identifying a face.

Mark had been left alone for the most part during the trip, but now there were hands on him again. He whined and whimpered as his body was manipulated without his consent, but that was all the fight he had. He didn’t resist or struggle as he was callously hosed down. The cold water left him an even bigger shivering mess than before, but his “caretaker” wasn’t done. The hands returned, along with the hose at a far closer proximity, and the expanse of time that followed was purposefully blurred by Mark’s brain whenever he tried to recall the fuzzy details.

Fingers going where he didn’t want them to. Plain soap being scrubbed roughly into his skin and hair; not enough to get rid of the grease or the more set-in grime. Even his mouth was rinsed with the stuff but all he could really remember was the bitter taste that left him sputtering. The man may have shamelessly groped him once or twice, but it was hard to tell the difference in Mark’s muddled mind. His collar, too, was scrubbed clean.

He was dried, but only briefly. The guy probably didn’t want to get his clothes soaked. After that, it was time to get him “ready for delivery”. His words; not Mark’s. Duct tape was wrapped heavily and carelessly around Mark’s wrists and ankles. The pressure on the broken bone there, from when a heel had slammed callously into his wrist, set him to whimpering pitifully but he was ignored; as if the man cared if he was in pain or not. He was silenced with another long strip across his mouth and then settled onto a plastic sort of material.

He didn’t realize it was a _tarp_ of all things until he was already being rolled into it.

Mark- drugged, exhausted, starving and sick as a dog- found one last spark of resistance. He didn’t want to be trapped in the tarp. He didn’t want to be surrounded by blue-tinted darkness with only a small hole above his head to rely on for air. He took it back, he _really_ didn’t want to die. He muffled all the noise he could muster against the tape and uselessly twitched his deteriorated muscles; nothing. He could do _nothing._ It was like being buried or mummified alive and it was terrifying.

He wanted to cry when it was done; when he could barely hear the ripping sound of more tape being applied. No chance of unrolling it himself, then, even if he had the strength. Mark’s breath hitched in a single sob, but no more followed. He just didn’t have it in him anymore. He couldn’t risk making himself suffocate. There wasn’t enough air. There wasn’t enough _space._

Mark didn’t know the time. He didn’t know where they were when he was settled unceremoniously against something. Everything was still dark and tight; the outside world stifled by layers of plastic, but it was cold. The man was gone and Mark was alone again. Every breath rattled in his chest- too wet, too weak. Would he die before Jack could find him?

God, he hoped not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	40. 4/18: The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is found.

It was raining.

Mark’s consciousness while he laid there hadn’t fared much better than it had during the long trip, but some part of him was always awake more than not. He’d stare at the blue pressed up to his face; sniffling. The plastic crinkled against his skin if he ever managed a movement. All he could smell was his own blood and mucus. His ears caught occasional sounds from outside: passing cars, the twitter of birdsong, a heavy breeze…

There were footsteps, at one point. Mark scarcely had the energy to even get his hopes up. Which was for the best, since they soon retreated. Not Jack; no one. Did anyone know he was there?

It was raining. It started at some point; dripping into his little opening. Stray droplets pierced his skin like tiny needles and he shivered as the temperature dropped further. He didn’t have enough body fat anymore; had nothing to burn to create more heat. Maybe he would catch hypothermia and just freeze to death. His escalating shivers only succeeded in toppling over whatever he’d been propped up against. More water seeped into his little plastic prison and he coughed against the tape covering his mouth. This was how he was going to die.

The rain was still pouring down when Mark thought he heard it again- footsteps. Splashing wetly through the puddles; thudding down close. Something pressed lightly against his body through the layers of tarp and he wheezed. Someone had found him? Someone? Jack maybe?? Mark could hear tape ripping but he was just too numb to host much of a reaction. ‘ _Jack…’_

Being rolled haphazardly out of the tarp he thought without a doubt would become his deathbed summoned no reaction but a soft gasp as his naked body was exposed to the elements. His shivering worsened and he curled in on himself instinctively for some semblance of protection; of decency. It was even colder and the rain had him drenched in less than a minute. He blinked droplets out of his eyes as his ears belatedly picked up on a horrified scream.

He wasn’t dead.

The tarp crinkled, but Mark hadn’t moved. Something else was crawling across it towards him and he wished he could feel scared. Instead, he was just tired. So, so tired.

“Mark, Mark…!”

Mark did not respond right away. It was difficult to say if it was a matter of personal choice or if, physically, his body was unable to do so. Were it not for the glint of life in his dulled brown eyes or the weak, wheezing rise and fall of his chest it would be too easy to think he was dead. If he was not in so much pain, he would have thought he was, too. Mark was relatively sure he had felt lifeless for several weeks now; numbing himself to the varieties of pain and humiliation his captors subjected him to was one of the tactics that had kept him alive, perhaps even kept him _sane._ It was a hard habit to break.

He stared vacantly at the bottom of a dumpster while someone sobbed out his name. The words sounded far away to his ears; a familiar echo of a time lost, of a Mark with not quite so much weight resting heavily on his shoulders. Vaguely, some small part of him felt bad about whomever was crying. He hoped they were okay.

Then hands were scrabbling at him, at the tape sticking roughly to his skin, and he went completely rigid in a heartbeat. Two months ago, he would have immediately struggled; kicked and grunted and thrashed to fight off his attackers but present day Mark was not as strong as the Mark from two months ago. He was tired, beaten down and grudgingly… subservient; hosting mannerisms ingrained into his psyche by months of torture. Much as he wanted to scream and fight, his brain told him to just lay still. Lay there, and let them do what they wanted, and soon enough they would leave.

_Good dogs don’t fight their masters. Good dogs sit and lay down and take whatever the fuck their master wants to give them. And you’re a_ **_very good dog_ ** _, aren’t you Markimoo? Yes, there’s my good boy, laying so still for me…._

Mark could still feel the ghost of fingers carding with mock affection and pride through his greasy hair. The phantom sensation slipped a shudder in amidst all of his shivering. _‘Please, god, just do what you want and go away. Please… I’m so tired….’_

It was the sensation of tape being ripped free of his mouth that sharply smacked Mark back into reality. His eyes became more alert and flicked around to seek out the source of his sudden pain. Before he could even register any connotations about the shock of green hovering above him, wet coughs were racking at his chest. The first few startled breaths through his mouth had triggered a light fit that left him looking even worse than before. Naked, bearing a worn dog collar, hair as lifeless as his eyes. Mark’s skin had lost much of its natural golden glow and now clung to his bones in a manner that outright screamed unhealthy. Bruises, old and new and all the colors on the spectrum, dotted his exposed flesh along with every stage of a healing cut imaginable.

The more significant scars of his torment, like the discoloration lingering around his still broken or improperly healed fingers and the criss-cross lash marks that could only have been raised by a whip, could be pinpointed with ease. Especially by someone that had seen the sources leave their respective marks firsthand. Mark would have felt shame, but he was far too busy trying to grasp his current situation while being simultaneously terrified- and sick. A few ragged sniffles and another watery breath confirmed that much.

“Mark, Jesus, Mark...”

Why were they still bothering him? Why did they remove the tape? What, they wanted him to say something? Was that it? Fine. It took Mark some serious effort and several more seconds of mental struggling, but eventually he located the shadow of his voice amidst all the metaphorical rubble. It was soft, and quiet, and hoarse beyond recognition but still _his voice_ and he could use it, damn it. He _could,_ so he spoke; letting his eyes slip closed against the chill of the rain hitting his sore face and looking more defeated than ever. “...please… just go away…. Leave me alone…. I can’t….”

His voice cracked, broke, and then a tremulous sob slipped out past his lips. He hated it. He had cried so much in front of those men; in front of that _camera._ It felt like a mockery of all the times his tears had been heartfelt, how his fan base would fawn over watching him cry tears of joy or overwhelming emotion in his videos. He had cried so, _so_ much the past three months. Surely there were no tears left. The wetness on his face must have just been the rain as he waited for some kind of punishment. A taunting insult or physical abuse- he would take either, any day, over the third option, the thought of which made him want to curl up even tighter on the cold ground that was clearly _not_ the padded room. However, his brain was anything but rational at that point and after spending three months in the same damn box it was easy to believe he was still there. That the voice saying his name, the hands touching his skin, did not belong to a friendly face. At best, he was hallucinating again- maybe even going crazy. At worst, he was dying.

Something soft, and warm, touched Mark’s wet, shivering skin and made him pause. He wanted to reach for the material to feel it with his hands, but the bindings made the movement too difficult to follow through with. Well, mostly it was his messed up fingers, but he had been trying really hard to ignore just how terrible they looked since the day his kidnappers decided to break about half of them. Huffing wet and rough from his mouth, even if he was only conveying his frustration to himself, he tried to put more of his waning focus into the object. The material was like his collar, but much softer; definitely warmer, as if it had been on a heater, or maybe on someone’s body. In fact…

Belatedly, he noticed it carried an all too familiar scent. Something he thought he had forgotten after months of having his nose filled with the smells of blood and dog food and… other things. Mark burrowed his face a bit deeper into the patch closest to his chin and inhaled as deep as his weak lungs would allow. _Very_ familiar; like the voice that was still calling to him, from somewhere. Were he not so terribly out of it, Mark would have felt embarrassed for taking so long to realize the sources of both the voice and the hands grabbing at him were one and the same. Belonging to a person he had hoped to meet before he died from whatever gruesome ministrations his captors chose.

Instead, he was too busy reveling in whatever the Hell was currently wrapped around his body. Funny, how much a person could come to miss something as simple and everyday as _clothing._ It did nothing for his chills, due to the fact he had a fever, but it dried him some and shielded at least his upper half from the elements. There was something equally soft shifting beneath his lower half and then his face was pressed up against something new. Still clothes, he recognized now, but a different material and much, much warmer; sturdier. Probably because it was _still attached_ to the body it belonged to. The smell was more prominent here too, and it eased his shaky breaths as he kept his eyes closed. No point in opening them and ruining whatever the Hell was going on.

“It’s...no, Mark, it’s me, it’s Jack, it’s Jack...god, Mark, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

There were arms pulling him close to that pleasant-smelling warmth; something pressing against his hair. It felt nice, even if his support was trembling. Even with sobs- not his own, for once, how odd- tinkling into his ear, it was better.

“...hurt, Mark... sorry... sorry... get it off...” A thick Irish accent. He was definitely in Ireland. ' _Jack?'_ Maybe. “Mark... get... tape... legs... call... okay, Mark?”

Of course his tranquility could not last. The hands were back; tearing and pulling at the tape on his wrists. He went tense all over again and curled his toes while his shoulders hunched uncomfortably. He may not have had much body hair to lose, but one of his wrists was still fractured from just two or three weeks ago when he had taken too long to respond to a command, because he was _so tired,_ and been punished with the heel of a hard boot to the joint. The injury had not stopped his wrists from being taped together and now every tug or pull sent pain jolting up his arm into his already overwhelmed brain.

“...better, Mark. You’re in Ireland. You’re with me, with Jack. I’m gonna get... hospital... taken care of... not gonna die.”

Mark hissed, and whimpered, and buried his face further into the pleasant smell and warmth of whatever he was pressed against because it _hurt._ He hurt, everything hurt, and he just wanted to go back to sleep but there were more words; closer now, right up against his ears so they could not be ignored. The amount he actually comprehended was questionable, but the accent was unmistakable. Maybe the man cradling him in his arms was Jack, as he claimed. Maybe it was someone else, and Mark’s hopeful brain was filling in the blanks where comprehension failed him but what mattered was the fact none of his kidnappers could even begin to mimic that accent.

“...got your hands free.. get better, Mark.... not dead ...not gonna die... got you. I’ve got you.”

Someone else was here, someone else was holding him, and the fact he could move his hands freely again only confirmed the fact they were friendly. He could have sobbed in relief, if he were not already choking on another coughing fit.

“Please… please…” Mark did not know what he was begging for, exactly, but any form of salvation would have been enough. He resisted the urge to flex his hands and wrists, redirecting them to the material around his shoulders instead; to the firmness he was pressed into. His good fingers clutched at the edge of whatever covered him like it was a last lifeline. The palm of his other hand smoothed over a shirt that was rapidly being soaked through, but was still _so warm._ He forgot what it was like. “Help….”

“...trying, Mark, I’m trying…” He could hear another choked sob at the end of the words. Poor man. He must be so horrified.

Mark’s savior seemed to hesitate when moving to the tape around his ankles, before forgoing the option altogether in favor of pulling him closer. He did not mind all that much. If his legs were free, they would probably just flop around uselessly. Not that he was unable to use them- in fact, his feet and ankles were likely the least injured part of his entire body, but it had been ages since he was _allowed_ to walk on two legs. He needed to remember how to first. Right now, he was lucky he could remember how to breathe properly, so keeping the weak limbs together and out of the way would be for the best.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mark, I don’t want… _Fuckdamn._ Mark...Mark... carry you, okay? ...pick you up... hold on? Can you… pick you up, Mark... Gonna... inside... warm. Hold on. Inside... help.”

Mark felt his arms being looped around narrow shoulders. Time was doing nothing to improve his cognitive abilities. More words, more hushed promises and soothing reassurances he could only pinpoint by things like pitch and tone. He heard his name a lot. Not that awful nickname he never wanted to hear again; _his_ name, his _real_ name and it was nice. Especially in that accent that had not let up an inch since he heard it loud and clear pressed up against his ear. He tried to pay attention to the important parts, like the actual words, but it was hard. Something about getting inside, of getting help, being carried maybe. Well, he was in no position to disagree. What were his other options? Lay there on the cold, wet ground and die?

He was too tired for more words. Mark gave a weak mumble instead; hands and fingers tightening their holds wherever they may have lingered. It was probably going to hurt.

“Gonna... put you down... but... pick you right back up again, okay? ...here, Mark... not going anywhere. I promise. I promise. I’m right here.”

Mark whimpered automatically when his feverish skin came into contact with the cold, wet tarp again. He immediately missed the soft warmth of the body he had been curled up against. His hands stubbornly clung and reached for the man as he stood and put distance between them, unable to put two and two together no matter the warnings Jack conveyed. For several agonizing seconds he thought he had been duped after all.

Then the arms returned; looping beneath his fragile body to raise him from the cold and wet a second time. Mark curled up again instantly to make himself compact. He had not really registered everything that was said, but his hands scrabbled instinctively for whatever bits they could reach. In the end, they wound up settling on a shoulder and hooked on the collar of a shirt, respectively. It was better than nothing.

“Try to hold... shoulders, Mark... try to hold on... won’t drop you... easier.”

As they hustled through the rain, Mark closed his eyes again. The movement and blur of his surroundings was making him sick. Too long spent without his glasses; without so much for his eyes to take in at once. The slight rocking motion caused by Jack carrying him was far more pleasant to focus on and when they entered a building, heading upstairs, the sheer _heat_ assaulted his ice cold skin like thousands of prickly needles. The sensation made him squirm and grimace but still he clung to the man. He refused to let go after the click of a door closing could be heard, and they came to a halted stop somewhere. He kept his eyes closed, trying to sort through the cacophony of voices echoing around them.

“Jack!?” A female voice- familiar, but beyond him at the moment- cut above the jumble of male exclamations. “Jack... back... have him?”

“I have him.”

Mark’s savior dumped him onto something soft. Seeing as any amount of movement caused him some kind of discomfort, all the jostling left him more than rattled. There were several parts of Mark’s body that instantly protested the incidentally rough treatment, but he did not have it in him to complain much besides a few pained wheezes and a weak groan as something soft and fluffy was wrapped around him.

“He’s alive... someone... can’t... call an ambulance, it’s bad... bad, he’s...god, Mark, can you hear them?”

Mark’s only response was to groan again and bury himself as deep into the blanket that had been draped over his body as physically possible. The thinner material still wrapped around his shoulders continued to be his favorite, but he could really get into the blanket. It was perfect, and with some maneuvering he could keep his good fingers on the man; more perfect. Now he could go back to sleep, and he would not have to worry about a thing. There was warmth, and softness, and good smells and someone there that did _not_ want to torment him. It was pretty sad how that meant a majority of his current needs were being met.

“Mark, you’re gonna be okay... hang in there.”

“Holy fuck, Mark... you??”

“You sound terrible!” There was a pause. “I mean... course you do... really dumb. I… Mark... hear us? Jack, how delirious is he??”

More familiar voices, but Mark was already drifting.

“...don’t think he even knows it’s _me.”_ There was a few seconds of silence. “Yes, ambulance, I need... sorry guys, I’m gonna... off now.” An arm wrapped around Mark’s body and he finally felt safe enough to slip back into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Back to double story updates. BD Make sure to go check out Kintsugi: The Gold, the next piece in this series, to get the full story. (Note: Gold is NOT a sequel, it's just from Jack's perspective instead of Mark's.)
> 
> And on another, very unrelated note, I'm going to announce that there won't be anymore pictures/clips about Mark's torture in the room! Snippets may come to light later in the actual story, but there will be no more chapters purely dedicated to it. The use of these chapters was... well, an unintended social experiment, to be honest. In an extreme form of meta, we wanted to see if the readers would behave like the people going to the website in our story.
> 
> You guys did. A lot. Astoundingly so. 1000 hits in a week? That's insane. And it happened after I started posting those special chapters, just like the website. As our resident psychology expert mentioned early on, "It's fascinating!" No one seemed to correlate the fic's hit counter with the scenes, and even when they did the counter didn't really slow down. Long story short, you guys proved the website in the story would, indeed, be devastatingly successful. Since we hit over 2000 now, and Mark is technically rescued in the story, I figured it would be a good cut-off point. We're going to focus more on the present now. :)
> 
> (Of course, if you're still hankering for some Mark torture, feel free to check out my other series: Something Wicked This Way Comes.)


	41. 4/20: Blazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drugs are bad, unless they're the hospital's.

After falling asleep on Jack’s couch to the sound of worried Irish and the comfortable pressure of an arm wrapped around the fuzzy blanket, Mark could not recall much. Some vague shouting and hushed, hurried voices of people he definitely did not recognize; too many beeps and squeaky rolling wheels on tile and stiff, starchy clothing that paled in comparison to the first article he had gotten. Mark wished he knew what happened to it. Along with his collar, but that was for an entirely different set of reasons. He could do without it- for a little while.

Visually, he mostly resided in the soothing shadows of his subconscious, be he in a deep slumber or semi-awake. It was comfortable there; safe, familiar. It was the place he had retreated to hundreds of times during his forced captivity. Flares of too much white and bright sunlight slipped in here and there but only coaxed his eyes into staying firmly shut even when pressure was applied to his hand, and that lilting Irish returned to croon occasionally in his ear. He liked those times the best; preferred the nonsensical words to the endless beeps and muted coughs from other rooms. He wanted to put a face to the sound, though. Dots still needed to be connected.

That day, when Mark felt the warm, calloused hand rubbing at his wrist he decided he was sick of just laying there and missing out on the best part of his currently limited life. He was going to open his eyes, damn it, and he was going to see this person. So he did- and promptly let out a stream of swears that might have been hilarious were his voice not the equivalent of sandpaper being run through a pasta machine. He immediately coughed a little, which morphed into a fit that had him rubbing at his throat as if the action would help.

His eyes were closed against the light again but he was trying to sit up, incoherently wheezing about some water, holy shit he was going to die. Why did he decide to get up today? Getting up sucked. He wanted a do-over. There were hands helping to steady him, though; piling pillows up behind his back to prop it up.

“Whoa, Mark, whoa, just lay back, it’s okay, you’re okay…!”

Mark just shook his head at first, a lot, because he was _not_ okay. He was choking on his own spit and whatever dust had collected in his throat and it _sucked_ but hey, that voice was back, so not all in the world had gone to shit. He tried to manage a few deeper breaths but the coughing made it impossible and the hands retreated.

“Here, Mark, small sips, okay? I’ll hold it for you, you’ve got plastic hands right now.”

Mark was actually getting red in the face by the time he got some water. Had his limbs been working properly, he would have snatched the glass to chug the whole thing down in his discomfited impatience. Who had time for small sips when he was basically dying?

Yet with his helper controlling the flow, he grudgingly had to follow the request. He could feel how his bed dipped and assumed the Irishman had settled on its edge to help him; the arm curled around his shoulders supported the theory. It also made him distinctly uncomfortable. However, Mark tolerated it until he had polished off the glass and no longer felt like hacking up a lung with every breath. He drew several to replenish his air supply before purposefully leaning forward to escape the arm. Then he tried opening his eyes again; glaring down at the white blanket pooled around his legs in some effort to not go completely blind.

“Someone turn down the brightness, these hospitals always suuuuck….” Now that he could talk without sounding like a hundred year old man, his words were noticeably sluggish. Not the same way they had been _that night,_ but undoubtedly _off._ Some of the ways he chose to phrase his thought processes also made little to no sense. Clearly, whatever drugs they had put him on for pain and to keep his stress levels down were supremely effective. At least he was not crying as he fell back against the stacked pillows again and tipped his face towards the ceiling. _'Woo, head rush.'_ “It’s too white. Why the fuck is there always so much white I mean, it doesn’t make any sense. _I_ don’t make any sense. What am I even talking about right now?? Where am I? Who’re y-”

Finally, _finally_ brown eyes fell onto the person sitting beside him and Mark had to pause, squint; tilt his head a little bit, but there was really no denying that shock of brilliant green or the familiar, lovely glint of bright blue eyes. The Irish he heard earlier basically sealed the deal as his voice hushed down to a startled whisper. “...Jack?”

“Welcome back, Mark.” A hand came to settle on Mark’s wrist. “And welcome to Ireland.” Jack was sniffling and swiping at his eyes. “You’re in hospital. You’ve been here for two days now.”

It _was_ Jack. Holy shit. “Holy shit. Jack. Jack, jack, jack, jack, jaaaack- uh. Crap… hang on, I forgot… right! Jack. Hi Jack. I haven’t seen you in fucking… fucking… uh….” Mark pulled a face, because thinking in general for him was very fuzzy at the moment and memories especially seemed to escape his slippery grasp. Irritated but undeterred, he blew some air past his lips and looked back at the green blur of Jack. “Fuck, I don’t know. Too long. I mean, Ireland?? What am I doing in Ireland? And in the hospital. Right. All the white… and the beeping… oh, hooked up to an IV again….”

“Ninety days,” Jack whispered nearly inaudibly. “Well, ninety-two now, I suppose…”

Mark raised his free wrist off the bed and scowled at the IV there. He might have also stuck his tongue out at it, but the action was brief. He turned back to Jack. “Two days, huh? Been sleeping that whole time. Got kinda sick of it. Wanted to see who kept touchin’ me. Oh.” Mark finally noticed the hand on him and stared at it for perhaps a worrying amount of time. Like he could not quite decide how he felt about it. However, it had been there for _two days,_ apparently, so he would let it go- _f_ _or now._ “I can’t really remember much. Right now. But I’m all banged up so I guess I’m on metric loads of painkillers? Damn. Where’s my glasses? I’m really tryin’ to remember… how exactly I got here….”

Furrowing his brows and pursing his lips, he wiggled his free arm with only a hint of a wince. He looked down at his bandaged body, feeling along his patched face and noting the ache in his bones. Meds or not, he still felt like shit. “‘M all banged up.” Repetition was also a thing.

“Left your glasses at home, Mark, sorry about that. Didn’t realize you’d be waking up today. I’ll bring them tomorrow. Don’t worry so much about trying to remember.”

“Mmmm….” Mark hummed, distracted by messing with some of the bandages on his arms and the splints on his fingers. They were irritating and he kind of wanted to rip them off like the hand still on his wrist, but it belonged to Jack, and Jack was okay, so he would leave it. His brain was just pulling another stupid because it hated hospitals.

“Eh, whatever. Who needs glasses? Not me. I’ve got the vision of an eagle. Like that bright spot on the ceiling? It’s a light. Boom. I’m awesome.” It was exceedingly difficult to decipher if Mark was purposefully joking or was being serious. He certainly felt satisfied with himself either way as he turned to focus a loopy smile on his companion.

“...you really scared me. But it’s over now, and you can get better.”

“Me, scare you? Ha. Yeah right. You said so yourself that I’m one of the least scary things in the universe. Even when I’m trying to be demonic. And now I’m in a hospital bed, so I’m _doubly_ pathetic. You don’t make any sense, Jack. Quit doing that.”

He gave the Irishman a playful shove with the wrist not currently being held captive, then paused to stare at the connection for another few awkward moments before continuing as if he had never stopped talking to begin with. “I’m all banged up, all right. Sort of look like a Happy Wheels character when you fuck up, hahaha.” It was his laugh, which might just be a precious commodity, but it sounded ingenuine. “I hope I don’t have to be here too long. I hate hospitals. It’s always hospitals. Always, always… feel good, though. Real good. Kinda loopy, if I’m gonna be honest. You probably noticed. Bet I sound like a complete derpy moron! Sorry. I’ve got motormouth too. Maybe I should just stop talking.”

“Yeah you do,” Jack said. “So there’s nothing new there…

“You got hurt, Mark,” Jack whispered, squeezing Mark’s wrist gently. _“That’s_ what scared me. That’s why you’re all banged up, and higher than a kite in a storm. I’m just...I’m glad you’re feeling better right now. I really am.”

Mark shot Jack another lopsided, dopey grin at the agreement. “Aw, you big worrywart. You shouldn’t be so scared! It’s me! The insurmountable. The survivor. The guy who’s been in and out of hospitals so many times I should just have my own personal room. Sure, I look like shit, but it’s just a flesh wound!” He grinned at his own reference, ignoring how the squeeze to his wrist made the muscles there tense up with further discomfort; weird as fuck. “You’ll see. Give it a few weeks and you’ll forget I was even hurt. I’ll bounce back and we can joke around like nothing ever happened. I’ll be better before you know it, and out of this damn hospital, and we can play Overwatch together. Or whatever you wanna do, I mean, I’m in _Ireland._ Take me to your pot of gold, you stupid leprechaun.” He was giggling again, leaning back against his pillows with an exhaustion he did not quite register past the drugs in his system. His body was _tired_ and his brain was confused, but his heart, for the moment, was satisfied.

Jack was smiling too. “Oh, Mark, it takes a lot more sweet-talkin’ than that to get a leprechaun to part wit’ his gold, by Jaysus. You’ll have to actually kick me arse in Overwatch, get more kills in a single game.”

Unfortunately, Mark's body only had enough energy to support his wakefulness for a small spurt. He still needed more time. His expression was losing some of its brightness in favor of a drowsy appearance but he was still watching Jack in obvious amusement; snorting out a laugh that was half coughing at the exaggerated accent. He forgot about eventually shrugging off the hand on his wrist.

“You’re such a dork…. A big, Irish…” He paused to yawn. “...nerd. Well, small nerd. Heh. Still taller than you~” Mark’s tone was teasing, but his volume was growing softer as he let his eyes close again. Much better; it was still too bright and blurry. “...even… in a hospital bed…. And, I’ll kick your ass… in any game… any day… even right… now…..” He gave another yawn. “...after a nap….” He might have tried saying Jack’s name one more time to complete his challenging delivery but he was already asleep before his mouth could form the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.
> 
> (If you didn't expect me to make a goddamn joke out of the coincidence of this date then you got another thing coming.)


	42. 4/25: Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark wakes up for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I've never suffered from serious trauma or PTSD myself, so if anything about this portrayal is inaccurate I apologize. I researched and got advice from a friend with a lot of psychology knowledge, but nothing can really replace personal experience. If you see anything wrong with the portrayal of Mark's issues and have suggestions on how to improve or fix them, please feel free to let me know in a comment! All constructive criticism is welcome.

Five days went by before Mark woke again for any extended period of time. “Extended” meaning more than five minutes of delirium, general confusion and/or a sort of vacant stare brought upon by a half-doze. He was never really coherent enough to speak properly or even register the goings-on around him but he often spied Jack, somewhere, in his peripheral and it was a pleasant constant for him to latch onto. Sort of like his collar, but without all the negative baggage.

This time, when he woke with a startling amount of clarity, Jack was not there. The room was dim and the sky outside the window was pitch black. It was too bright in the city, even if it was smaller than L.A., to see any stars. It was dark, and quiet, and Mark was alone; no shock of green to drink in or an Irish-tinged greeting tickling at his ears. The spot on his wrist where he distinctly remembered a hand being more often than not was cold. The bed felt uncomfortable under his weight after being stuck in it for so long and he restlessly kicked off his blanket because it was making him feel vaguely claustrophobic.

Except that exposed his legs to the chill of the room and the stupid gown he was in did nothing to help. Rather than pull the blanket back up, he glared at the thing as if it had personally offended his honor and curled against his pillows. His body ached to move but he ignored it. Aches were nothing new; pain was familiar. Clothes, blankets, a bed, bandages, all this space… they were not and he instantly hated them all for apparently no reason whatsoever. The irrational thought only served to irritate him further in a vicious mini-loop of a cycle he barely took conscious note of.

Too big. Too clean. Too _weird._ Mark had spent three months locked up in that little room with _nothing_ and then two months with just a collar. Where _was_ his collar- no, it was Chica’s. Chica’s collar, not his. Thinking it was his was _their_ thinking. Their thinking was bad, and wrong, and he did not like _it_ either but it kept happening. Frustrated, he pressed his hands to the sides of his head and tried to focus. Apparently, even with a clear mind his thought process was an absolute jumbled wreck. He finally had the opportunity not to be in fear for his own personal well-being and he could not even take advantage of it.

His efforts did not really help- at all. The room was still too big and the silence was too loud in his ears because it _wasn’t_ silence. Even with only a few quiet sounds heard in his particular ward, it was too much. In that room, it was either complete silence or a cacophony caused by his tormentors. This was an unhappy intermediate. At least, it made _him_ unhappy. Which made no sense, because obviously he was _out_ of that miserable room. _Obviously,_ he was away from danger. **_Obviously,_** he should be feeling relief and gratitude and sheer glee at surviving that entire ordeal.

Yet he was _not_ happy or content or even remotely satisfied. He was still alone, and still hurt, and his brain still refused to cooperate with him beyond habits and routines that had been ingrained into him for survival. It was too big and there were too many options and he did not know what to do with himself. His breathing was starting to become short and he was certain his vision would have blurred if it was not already absolute shit. Had Jack ever brought his glasses? That was a thing he said, right? He had his glasses?

Mark jerked a bit haphazardly in the bed as he swiped at the nearest surfaces sporadically. Several objects fell and he cursed under his breath because any one of them could have been his glasses. He almost moved to get up, to crawl on the floor and look, but then paused and furrowed his brow. He realized he had gone _three whole months_ without the damn things. Why would he need them now? What good would they do? Just reaffirm how _utterly out of place_ he was? No thanks. He would rather keep going blind. At least _that_ was familiar.

However, the events had done nothing to help him relax or calm down. His breathing was still too fast and he could hear his heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears as he started to significantly panic. There was an incessant, crazy beeping in his ear. He clutched at his head and pulled at his hair, because nothing made sense to him anymore. He had just been tossed back into normalcy without much warning and only now could he fully comprehend the striking differences compared to what had been his life for so long, and it _terrified_ him.

He was muttering, something unintelligible that only made sense to himself. A mantra in his head, of his fears and names of people he wanted to see because he was _scared_ and all the things that were wrong, that were different and discomfiting and overwhelming. _'_ _Too much space, too much space, too much spacetoomuchtoomuchtoomuchspace-'_

Someone said something, and touched his shoulder, but it was like dropping a giant stone into a bubbling pot of water. The burning liquid splashed everywhere without any regards to what the repercussions might be. He gave a shout, like a wounded animal, and struck his splinted wrist out on reflex. He only managed to hit the quick-thinking intruder in the shoulder, but it did not stop there. Mark had also simultaneously ripped his body away from the touch as if it burned him. He was shouting more now, instead of muttering, and the words were lost even to himself. He just knew someone was touching him, and if someone was there to touch him it meant more bad things were about to happen. He could not stand it. He could not stay there. He wanted _out._

By the time more strangers arrived he had scrambled out of the bed and onto the floor, because his legs were still weak. He had not even attempted to use them in over a week and had not walked on them enough while in that room. So he crawled, because he was _good_ at that- they told him he was, praised him on his form, and going on all-fours never prompted a punishment- and went to the nearest corner to curl up because it was smaller than the bed. He was less vulnerable and exposed that way. It felt like a wire or two had been ripped off his body in the process but he did not care. Everything was too bright and too loud and it was all a big, terrifying blur of faces he did not know with voices he did not recognize.

Mark was screaming, and sobbing, and he just wanted something familiar. Something he could latch onto in a sea of unknown. His collar, or Chica- _'Chica's dead, she's dead, idiot, deadead_ ** _deadead_ _dead'_** '- or Jack… Jack had been there. Where was Jack?? He kept asking, but there were no answers, and after a while he was forced to stop because he was falling asleep again. He did not want to, but he was, and he was still _scared_ but he fell asleep all the same with small scratches and tear streaks on his face, on his arms, on **_them_**. Later, he would be embarrassed and mortified with himself. Later, he would feel incredibly guilty, and apologize a dozen times. Later, he would wonder _what the Hell_ happened.

But for now, he slept, whether he liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	43. 4/25: Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark remembers, but at a cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same note as the last chapter applies, and probably will for the remainder of the story. Please, feel free to leave any constructive criticism or suggestions in the comments in relation to Mark's mental state and actions!

The next time Mark woke, it was more difficult. He felt as if he had to claw his way out of the depths of a pool filled with molasses instead of water. His subconscious was thick and sticky and drowsiness clung to him even as he regained awareness; made it difficult to open his eyes, harder for him to move. He blamed the immobility on that, at first, and worked on getting his eyes open so he could hopefully comprehend what was going on. His face and several spots on his body stung where they had not before and Mark was bewildered.

Dulled brown eyes managed to crack open and stayed that way for too long. His pupils had been constricted but adjusted to the light by the time his eyelids finally slid to half-mast. It did nothing to bring the room into better focus or better his understanding of the situation, but it was no longer dark and the cold spot on his arm was warm again. Belatedly, his gaze slid to the right, taking in a green and blue and blur of peach-colored skin. Jack. He was there.

 _He was there._ Something in Mark’s chest lifted and bubbled up his throat. He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but his tongue was a lead weight behind his teeth. It felt thick and heavy and did not want to react properly to his commands. Slack-jawed and dazed, he twitched beneath Jack’s hand. He wanted to acknowledge Jack’s presence; reassure himself that yes, it was real. It was real and solid because he _acknowledged_ it. He tried to reach out and touch Jack- or at least, the blur that was Jack, but again his limbs refused to cooperate.

“Mark?”

Or more accurately, they were unable to. Mark’s initially soft, slow attempts steadily rose to a confused, anxious jerking. Metal clinked together and soft material held around his limbs and he drew in a sharp, stuttering breath. He was stuck. _He was stuck._ He was stuck, he could not move, they had tied him down again and he could not even recall why because he was already beginning to panic. Mark stared down at the blur of a cuff lingering below Jack’s hand, mortified and stricken, and attempted to twist the pinned limb. It gave a painful spark of protest and he whimpered in a way he had not since _that day._ The day Jack found him by the dumpster. His heart rate monitor was kicking up again but had not set off an alarm- _yet._ His breathing was wet, ragged and quick as he mouthed out his soundless terror and confusion. He thought he was free, he thought it was over, _why was he still_ ** _trapped?!_**

“Mark, shh... hospital... stay calm... safe, Mark, you’re safe.”

The sound of his name- _his_ name, not that horrible nickname- cut through his panicked thoughts. The entire scenario felt like deja vu somehow, but the notion was quickly dismissed in favor of focusing on Jack again. Jack was talking to him. He needed to try and calm down at least a little or he would miss Jack’s voice due to the pounding in his ears. He attempted to take a few deeper breaths but it was hard, because he was still scared. His lungs were also weak and all the hyperventilating made them tired but he managed to catch a few words at the tail end of Jack’s first few statements.

 _Safe._ That word was said several times. _Calm_ was in there too, but he knew that, he knew he needed to calm down Jack but it was _hard._ Mark worked to say as much; struggled to tell Jack he was _trying_ but he was too busy breathing to speak. He blinked rapidly to try and get rid of the burning in his eyes that always acted as a precursor to more tears. There was a mention of his glasses, but the cuffs stifled his attempts to grab for them- blindly. Immediately, his heart rate spiked up again and he was almost lost to the anxiety before Jack took the initiative.

“Mark... stay calm... I promise. Here. Here... glasses, okay?” Jack kept one hand on Mark’s arm, leaving that point of contact between them as he carefully maneuvered them over Mark’s face.

The world abruptly slid into clarity and Mark went stock still. He did not move a single muscle besides the ones in his chest as his lungs continued forcing him to breathe. He just stared, even if he was staring at a corner of his bed like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He could see. He could _see._ For the first time in months the world was not a blur of motion and shape and color. Everything was crisp and visible; no detail was lost to his brown eyes as they flitted about. He was so stunned that for several moments he forgot… well, just about everything. He was too busy looking around; swiveling his head left and right and up and down before turning to focus on Jack. _Jack._ He looked so much better this way. Every green or brown hair was distinct; blue eyes glistened beneath fair lashes; black frames rested easily on his nose. He could see the familiar stubble and the twitch of chapped lips and how they formed around the soothing words Jack was saying.

“...safe now, Mark. I’m here... have you. Okay? If you can just...”

Oh. Jack was still talking. Mark felt a spike of guilt at having tuned the concerned Irishman out entirely and tried to take his hand. He realized, again, that he was cuffed. His breath hitched and got caught up in his chest as he looked from the cuff to Jack’s face and back again- almost fast enough to give himself whiplash. “J- Jack-” The name stuck to his teeth like taffy and he coughed a bit on the forced out word; fear nearly tangible in his tone. He tugged a bit at the cuff again, but it was more controlled this time. Mark was distraught, but not lost, as he fought off another impending panic attack and sought some kind of explanation from Jack as guidance.

“I’m here, Mark. I’m here.” Jack rubbed his thumb over the skin of Mark’s arms. “Good, you’re doing good. I’m going to call a nurse in, okay? If she sees that you’re calm, she’ll take the cuffs off.” Jack kept talking softly as he pressed a button, holding Mark’s gaze.

“Off… off, Jack- _off-_ ” Mark did want the cuffs off. He did. Just because he was in a nice, clean hospital room and safe from any would-be attackers (probably), that did not mean he was okay with being immobilized. As if being in such an open environment was not already risky, being unable to defend himself or run away just made him all the more vulnerable. Even with clothes and blanket and bed and glasses, he might as well have been back in that room. In his deepest, darkest fears he could picture the kidnappers coming after him again and they didn't care for logic or reason or probability because no matter what, it was still a _possibility._

“They said you woke up this morning and hurt yourself. They almost didn’t let me in today. Good thing I sweetened them up with doughnuts, eh? They keep kicking me out at night, but I’m gonna try to stay this time. Maybe they’ll let me if you say it’s okay.”

He hurt himself? Mark wanted to touch at the stinging marks on his arms and face, but obviously could not. He tried to get a better look at the limbs instead. With his glasses, he could now see the tiny scratches. Some of them had even drawn blood, and then scabbed over. He found himself surprised. Did _he_ do that? Jack said he did, but Mark didn’t remember clawing at his own skin. Just panic, and having a meltdown, and screaming until he was thrown into fits of coughing because his lungs _couldn’t take it._ He paled a little.

“Just stay calm, Mark, okay? Just stay calm. I’ll stay right here while she takes the cuffs off, you just stay calm and show her you’re not going to hurt yourself again, okay Mark?”

“I….” It was hard for him to stay calm. As if being cuffed was not bad enough, now he knew he was apparently mentally unstable- enough to _hurt_ himself and not even remember doing so. It was frightening and the longer his brain had to spin its gears, the more the problems from last night began to rear their ugly heads. Jack’s presence had changed nothing but to serve as a distraction from all the things _wrong_ there. It was still too big and too white, and now it was even _louder._ Mark had to force himself to focus on Jack’s voice as his chest remained tight with anxiety. “Jack….”

There were approaching footsteps, and a nurse entered. Mark wondered if she'd been there last night, but his attack had gotten to the point where he failed to register much of anything. He recalled striking out at someone- her?- and immediately felt a wave of guilt. It worsened when she drew close enough for him to note the scratches on her exposed arms. Did _he_ do that? Did he really claw at someone in a blind panic? It felt like he was going to be sick. He wanted to clutch at his stomach, but he was still trapped.

The nurse was frowning, and looking hesitantly between the two young adults. “Yes? Did you need something?”

“He’s calm,” Jack said, looking up at the nurse. “He’s awake, and he’s calm, see? He’s not going to hurt himself. Can you take the cuffs off?” Jack slid his thumb over Mark’s skin, glancing down at Mark again. “Please?” Jack added. “They’re making things worse. He’ll stay in bed.”

The nurse pursed her lips with a dubious expression. She frowned, clearly uncertain, but stepped forward. “He isn’t calm. Protocol states he shouldn’t be released until he is, and cognizant enough to comprehend consequences. Do you understand? If I undo the buckles now, he could be putting not only himself, but you and myself at risk. If he hurts you or himself again, we are liable. This is for his own safety….”

Mark was trying to pay attention to the nurse so he could understand what exactly was going on but he did not like her- _distinctly_. Yes, he felt guilty for hurting her, but the unfamiliar was currently his enemy and the fact she was not immediately setting him loose left a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted out. She could let him out. Why wasn’t she letting him out?? He almost felt like a lost child as he forced out another word in that same wet, wheezing tone. “... _please…._ ”

“He’s not calm _because_ he’s been tied up. He’s been tied up for _three months_. If you keep him tied up, _you’re going to break him_. I won’t sue if he hurts me. My own damn fault. I won’t let him sue either if he hurts himself. I’ll let him sue _me_ , okay? Just please, _please_ , let him go. Please.”

“...fine. I’ll undo the buckles, but if he acts up they’re going right back on, and he’ll be sedated again. And you won’t be allowed to see him until he’s no longer having violent attacks. Understand?” Her tone was dead serious as she worked each belt on the little cuffs loose; starting with Mark’s ankles. She only continued to his wrists when he did not immediately lash out, and she went slower with them. One at a time, watching Mark like a hawk.

Mark really did not like her touching him, but he tolerated it because she was freeing his limbs. He was tense; stretched taut like a rubber band and ready to snap but he held it together. He kept up his disgruntled, strained expression as he watched her right back now that he could properly see. Each time a limb was set loose he would stretch, move and wiggle it around to prove the binding was really gone. When the last one was removed, he immediately shied away from them both and curled in on himself by the pillows again. It helped to produce an illusion of being in a smaller space. His breathing and heart rate were slowing but he was still scared and anxious as he watched them both with clear cut paranoia.

Jack had let Mark's wrist go in an instant. “See?” he said quietly. “He’s already calmer. He’s going to be fine. We don’t need those restraints.” Jack smoothed his hand over the blankets, tugging them back into place. “Can you go? He doesn’t like nurses very much. That’s probably why he’s not fully calm.”

The nurse still did not look convinced, but eventually she sighed. “I really shouldn’t leave you two alone. Don’t take advantage of the privilege I’m giving you both. At some point, I’m going to need to alert his doctor to the fact he’s awake and not volatile so a proper check-up can be performed. I’ll give you two some time alone for now. And remember what I said earlier.” She sent Jack a stern look. “If anything happens, you’re out. Period. If you need anything, just call me again.”

Jack nodded at everything the nurse said; bearing an innocent smile. It wasn’t until the nurse was long gone that he turned back to Mark.

Mark had been watching anxiously as she strode out of the room; closing the door crisply behind her. He felt bad, not apologizing when he had the chance, but his brain was too much of a mess to form proper sentences. Besides, her attitude stirred up a foreign bitterness inside of him. Her hesitance to free him from his bindings called upon a more childish thought process within him; making her almost as bad as his kidnappers. So he had one panic attack. So he maybe attacked some people, and himself. It was no reason to tie him up like he was some kind of criminal. He did not do it on purpose. It was the people that had made him this way they should be cuffing to bed rails.

He exhaled a breath from his nose, because the more adult, logical side of him tuned in to point out just how stupid that entire chain of thought was. _He_ was stupid. _Of course_ they would restrain and sedate him after last night. Thinking back on the brief glimpses he could recall, he would probably have been scared of _himself_ if he could have been a bystander instead of the cause. Mark was secretly relieved Jack had not been there. Even if he could have prevented or stopped the entire fiasco, he _never_ wanted anyone he cared about to see him in such a state. At least not now; not when he lacked the excuse of his forced captivity and torture to explain his crazed actions.

He was out now. He should be better now. There was nothing to trigger such fear and survival instincts within him. Mark knew that line of thinking was stupid, too, but it existed and the fact he was curled in on himself, glancing about as if waiting for his tormentors to make a surprise return, for _anyone_ and _everyone_ to turn against him or hurt him was just further proof something was seriously wrong with him. Plus now Jack _was_ there, and he was bearing witness to it. Maybe Mark really was going insane.

“...sorry….” Mark was not sure why he was apologizing, or if it was even solely directed to Jack, but it was the first word to slip past his lips when he could finally speak again. He had not uncurled from his position at all, but he did feel calmer. The heart rate monitor agreed, though the green lines proceeded to spike at every sudden movement Jack might make or if he got too close. It was a window into Mark’s psyche, in a way. He felt a bit guilty about pulling away from Jack so readily after the Irishman had stayed beside him and vouched for him, but the thought of being touched right then was too much for him to handle. It was kind of ironic, how now that he could see, he could not bring himself to look at his friend.

“Mark?” Jack reached out for Mark’s arm but stopped. Thank god, because Mark had felt a sharp spike of fear at its approach. “It’s okay, Mark. She was probably more upset with me. I nearly ripped her face off this morning when I saw they’d cuffed you. You at least get the excuse of drugs. I was just pissed.

“You understood what she said, though, right? I mean, I know a lot of it’s out of your control, but...we gotta make sure you don’t have freak outs like that one again, or they’ll stop bending all the rules for me.”

The machine- and Mark- calmed relatively quickly when Jack moved back into his chair. The slumped posture only made him feel more guilty, though. Jack just wanted to make sure he was okay, he wanted to support him. It really wasn't fair. “...I almost literally ripped her face off, though….” Were it not for the situation, the statement could have been hilarious. In this case, it was just sad, but it was the truth. Whether Mark recalled clawing at himself and those reaching out to him or not, the scratches and bruises did not lie. The fact he _failed_ to remember the whole thing only made it more frightening for him.

“Yeah, well...drugs are a hell of a drug, bro.”

Mark wanted to snap that it was not the drugs, it had _nothing_ to do with the drugs, it was just his own twisted mind causing _all_ of the problems- but he did not. He managed to catch himself, and then hunkered down harder in his little makeshift safety net because Jack did not deserve that; did not deserve backlash from Mark’s bat shit insane thought process. He would sooner give himself a new set of scratches than metaphorically backhand one of his closest friends like that so he bit his tongue, which still felt a bit too thick and heavy in his mouth.

“How are you feeling now?”

Mark curled up tighter on himself, hugging his knees much as the splints and wires would allow, and buried a majority of his face into them. Jack was right. Everything he'd said was true, but it just made Mark feel worse; like that childish bitterness that had blossomed in the nurse’s wake. He was quickly coming to loathe this new side of himself. “...’m fine.” It was a lie. He was distinctly _not_ fine, even if he was calm. The room was still too big and too white, and he wanted his collar, and for all the excess noise that came with hospitals and the outside world and _normality_ to just _stop_ for a minute so he could think clearly.

Jack sighed. “Mark...I realize you’re still pretty heavily doped, even if you don’t have the sedation juice in your arm anymore, so...if I treat you like you’re an idiot, it’s because you’re drugged up and not because I _actually_ think you’re an idiot, okay? But a heart rate monitor like the one clipped on your finger is _basically_ kiddy’s first lie detector, so...let’s try that again?”

“That’s cheating….” Jack should not be allowed to take one look at the giant monitor behind him and get a read on what Mark might be thinking or feeling. It made him feel more exposed and he was seconds away from ripping the little finger clip _off..._ but he knew that would just trigger the alarm, as he “flat-lined”, and draw more people back to the room. No. One was enough; _Jack_ was enough. If more people suddenly crowded in he _would_ panic again and they would all be back to square one. Perhaps even _negative_ one after what the nurse had said.

He settled for a light, unfocused glare in Jack’s general direction and a pout hidden securely behind his too knobby knees. Christ, he was thin. In the room, he had too much to worry about to take notice of his deteriorating body but now, comparing himself to _Jack,_ the _literal Irish twig,_ he felt like skin and bone. He probably looked _terrible._ At the realization, Mark ran his better hand through his hair a few times; mimicking Jack’s earlier gesture. He heard the beeps behind him increase in speed and felt a spike of irritation because _it was still unfair._ Stubbornly, he took a few breaths to get his heart rate back to normal.

“Sorry, Mark,” Jack said. “I’ll try not to pay attention to it…” He was smiling a little, though. The jerk.

“Mark...I don’t want you to have a freak out like that again, okay? For all kinds of reasons, but the big one is because they’ll cuff you again and that’s just _wrong_. So...I need you to talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong, why you’re all curled up. If it’s things that I can fix...you woke up a few days back, _super_ high, and said everything was too bright. Is that still a problem? I can turn the light off. Things like that...is there anything I can do to help?”

Jack looked like he might burst out of his own skin if he wasn't able to do _something;_ something to _help Mark,_ in particular. Mark did not want to confess any of his stupid qualms with his situation aloud, but if he kept them bottled up they _would_ cause another explosion. Another explosion would lead to more restraints. If there was _anything_ he wanted to avoid, it was being pinned down like that again. Which basically left him stuck between a rock and, well, Jack’s concerned expression. _'Fuck.'_

“...it is too bright….” His words were a mumble; a quiet rumble that was barely audible even in the relative silence of the private room. He burrowed deeper into his self-made bubble and squeezed at the sides of his calves as he pushed on. “...it’s too loud. There’s too much noise. I can’t focus. And the room, it’s too big. I don’t know what to do with myself. All this space…. All these things…. It’s too much. I’m at a loss. And I’m exposed, and I really don’t like it, and Jack, they cuffed me. They _cuffed me,_ Jack, I didn’t _mean_ to hurt anyone, but they still did it, and I was so scared when I woke up I thought it was all just a really nice dream and I was back there with _them-_ ” He stopped, drawing a breath that shuddered his core, and then dissolved into a series of rough coughs because his lungs still could not handle such actions. Part of him was _mortified,_ as he leaned forward and wheezed and hacked. Had he _honestly_ just spilled all of that? Oh god, now Jack would _really_ think he was crazy- or just pathetic.

“I can turn off the lights.” Jack leaned forward. “I can’t turn off any of the machines, but maybe they can turn the volume down, or get a white noise machine, or something, and maybe...maybe a smaller room? Or curtains around the bed or something?” Jack bit his lip, and then reached out, taking the blankets and tugging them up the bed with more strength than Mark would be able to manage, pulling them loose and getting them closer to Mark. “Why don’t you wrap up?” he suggested. “That might help with the exposedness? I’ll get the lights.”

“You can’t do anything about the noise, I know. It’s just stupid, don’t worry about it. I’ll get over it… or used to it… I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Same thing with the room, it won’t help. It’s not… it’s not the same. None of this is the same and that should be a good thing but I just can’t….”

Jack left the blanket near Mark and got up from his chair, heading to the door.

Mark just shook his head as he looked around; he remembered there being water, days ago. The first time he woke up. Surely there must be some more floating around. It took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to locate the same pitcher and cup Jack had used prior. He knew he should probably ask Jack for assistance, but Jack was _already_ trying to help halfway across the room. He could do it. He wasn’t paralyzed. His hands were just a bit messed up, that was all.

It took both hands for him to get the pitcher into the proper position and he ended up pouring some water onto the table at first. A muttered curse and awkward adjustment later got the stream into the proper place but by then his arms were already trembling; particularly the one with the wrist splint.

Mark fumbled to set the pitcher back down before he simply dropped it and then the lights went out. He _knew_ Jack was turning them off but it still managed to startle him, and he very nearly knocked the cup right off the table. His stiff fingers scrabbled against the plastic and by some grace of god only a few fat drops splashed out onto the bed. Three months ago, he might have laughed at how silly the whole thing must have looked. There was enough ambient light from the monitors and windows to keep the room from being totally dark, but it was much dimmer.

“Shit, sorry, I’m sorry, should have warned you I was about to flip the lights off!” Jack apologized. He returned to Mark’s side.

Right then, Mark just sort of wanted to cry. Feeling helpless had to be one of the worst sensations in the universe. To think, he used to believe such small things in his life gave him that experience; that he even had an inkling about just how awful it could make a person feel. He knew better now. Being helpless and vulnerable were two factors his captors had _always_ kept in mind. They constantly found new ways to reiterate those feelings and never ceased to excel with their devious efforts. They were so thorough and efficient with their goals that it _still_ affected Mark, even now when he was safe and secure and in the company of someone he should be able to trust without question. It was like he had been brainwashed or something.

Embarrassed, he hunkered back down into his curled up position; now cradling the water like he was Gollum and it was his Ring. Belatedly, he decided that comparison was shit awful because in his current deteriorated state he supposed his body was not too far off from the deranged creature’s- and now he felt more pathetic. Awesome. His brain was getting pretty damn good at making him feel worse than he already was.

He released a heated puff of air from his mouth and sipped from the cup he had nearly sent toppling onto the bed. It soothed his throat, but did nothing to help everything else that was currently wrong with him. At least the dimness made him feel a little better. The window and bright monitors were still throwing him off but he could pretend they did not exist if he kept his gaze firmly locked away from them. Almost petulantly, he kicked the blanket further away and immediately regretted the action. How ungrateful did he look?

“...the blanket’s wrong. I know it doesn’t make any sense, I _know_ it sounds stupid, but I don’t like it. Or this…” He picked at the gown with a pinched expression as if it would explain itself. “...it’s not right. None of it’s right…. I don’t know any of it, I don’t get it, I just want…. I want….” He wanted his damn collar. The mental confession made his stomach knot itself up but there was no denying it. The accessory was the last scrap of familiarity he was left with from those trauma-inducing months; the only thing he had been able to cling to. None of _these_ things had been with him in that room. The collar _had_. The collar legitimized _everything_ for him, in a way that _only_ made sense to him, which was _exactly_ why he could not explain it- or ask for it. He already looked unhinged enough.

Jack dropped back in his seat, automatically reaching for Mark’s wrist before stopping himself, drawing his hand back to his lap. “What do you want?” he asked. “I don’t think _anyone_ likes hospital gowns, but I think...I dunno, you’re kinda a special case. Maybe they can make an exception for you. Same with the blanket. Do you need a different blanket? Different _type_ of blanket? You seemed to like my fluffy one...but maybe that was just because you were totally zonked.” Jack blew out a breath of his own. “I mean, worst case scenario, I could offer to donate a ton of money to the hospital if they let you have whatever makes you feel better. Just… what do you want, Mark?”

Mark wanted to laugh because Jack just did not _get it,_ but of course he didn’t. No one could, besides maybe those few whom had experienced the same fate and were still around to deal with the aftermath. Then again, neither Dan or Troye had been forced to put their trauma on display for the entire world to see. Mark just so happened to be _lucky_ in that case. Bitterness welled up within him again, cool and sticky like tar. No one could fully understand what he was feeling; no one could even begin to comprehend it. Jack’s efforts, while sweet and appreciated and just too good for Mark, were absolutely fruitless and completely missed the mark. He failed to _get_ the meat of the problem.

It didn’t matter what clothes Mark put on, they would still feel foreign on a body that had gone without for so long. Blankets were odd and suffocating. If Jack was could understand anything at all, it was that Mark reveled in both on _that day_ because he was too delirious to register much beyond _warm_ and _soft_ and _smells nice._ Now, with his cognitive abilities rapidly repairing themselves since they were no longer under constant duress, he was picking apart the details; the things that were going to drive him mad. He must not have been totally crazy yet because instead of acting on his urge to laugh, he just sighed heavily, resolutely.

“You don’t get it…. I don’t want _any_ of that, Jack. It won’t help. Nothing the hospital could do would change anything. All they can do is make sure my body heals and after that I’m…” He would what? Seek a psychologist? A therapist? The thought left a sour taste in his mouth the water could do little against but at least it was in a cup and not a bowl. At least he could use his hands for more than just crawling around and- no. He was ending that disastrous train of thought right there.

Despondently, he rubbed at his neck with a hand, fingers twitching at the lack of rough material or the smooth metal of a dog tag. How often had he fingered that little piece of metal over countless hours of isolation? When he was left alone to wallow in the aftermath of whatever abuses had been laid into him. In a terrible twist of irony he felt _naked_ without it. He would take the collar over the gown in a heartbeat and his fingernails scratched subconsciously at a reddened patch that was still healing up. He could remember it, how the man pulled hard at his leash and made the collar drag against his skin enough to rub it raw; half-yanking him across the room because he was too sick and exhausted to move himself.

“What do you _want_?” Jack asked again, and there was a touch of a whine in his voice. He was watching Mark intently.

Mark winced. After three months of doing his best to judge a situation and those involved to better increase his chances of survival, of recovery, he was attuned to even slight tonal aberrations. The whine did not go unnoticed. Jack was becoming exasperated, and Mark could not even blame him for it. He would be pulling at his hair in frustration too, listening to himself go on almost nonsensically like this. He was talking in circles, evading questions and not trying to offer up any solutions at all. Mark hunkered further down like a turtle retreating into its shell but the behavior did not last very long.

“Was that Chica’s collar?” Jack asked. “What if I got that back for you? Would that help?” Jack sounded uncertain but desperate. “Or...or anything from your house? Tyler is looking after everything for you. He overnighted me your glasses, so I’m sure he could get you anything else you might want…”

Jack, finally, incredibly, hit the nail on the head so hard he metaphorically smashed a hole into the wood while he was at it. Mark tensed because ironically, much as he _wanted_ Jack to get it, at the same time he wanted the exact opposite. If Jack figured it out, then the response would surely be the same as if Mark had simply told him. He remained tense and bit at his lip while the beeping in his ear spiked again infuriatingly. He _hated_ that machine. It had officially become his new nemesis and he could not wait to be rid of it.

He quickly set the nearly empty cup aside so he could bury his face into his knees. The action triggered a soft sound of pain as he applied pressure to the injuries there, but he did not pull away. It was Jack mentioning Chica specifically that upset him the most. He did not want to think about her, or what those assholes did to her just for kicks, or how he wore the collar of his _dead dog_ for weeks and now wanted to _keep_ wearing it as some sick memento of his trip into the depths of Hell on Earth. Maybe Jack thought he just wanted to hold onto it, to remember Chica by.

What would he say if Mark told him he wanted to _wear_ it? He could not bear to even think about it. The possible scenarios; what Jack might do. The offer to obtain any of his other possessions almost made him laugh again. It felt like those things were from another time and place. A happier plane of existence he would never, ever be able to get back. Having them around would only remind him of what he had lost but still, there _was_ one thing he wanted. That refused to change no matter how horrified he became with himself and plausible consequences. Turning his head so his cheek could press against the scratchy gown instead, his voice was a hoarse whisper when he finally gave an answer.

“...it was _my_ collar….”

Mark feared he would need to try and explain himself to Jack before any progress was made. Most people wanted explanations for things they could not understand, right? Jack would want to know why the Hell he wanted something that had been a source of such humiliation. He was not a dog. He had no need for a collar. People did not wear collars and tags unless they did it for fashionable purposes, or some kink, who knew. Surely, surely having that cursed accessory back would just give way to Mark reliving bad memories.

Jack worried his lip between his teeth. “...would it help?”

Instead, Jack asked a completely different question, and Mark picked his head up a bit. Of all the things that could have been asked of him, that was probably the best one. Not questioning, not outright judging; simply wanting to know if it would help. If that was what he really wanted. Mark was stunned, but he also felt a gentle swell of something warm deep in his stomach. He cradled that sensation as he stared into Jack’s worried blue eyes. They looked bigger, behind his glasses. He forgot how cute they made him look.

“....” That was supposed to be a verbal response. An affirmative, but nothing came out, so Mark gently closed his mouth again and just settled on a hesitant, nervous nod. He was still curled up, but some of the tension had eased out of his exhausted muscles. Relief and gratitude flickered in distant brown eyes and he almost wanted to reach out and touch Jack, as if the Irishman could feel the emotions through skin alone- but he didn’t.

“You’re cheating again….” Mark did not hesitate to call Jack out as he glanced at the monitor, though the guilt on his face sort of made up for the betrayal. At least he still sounded light-hearted about it. So long as Jack took _his_ side and not the monitor’s side in the end, everything would be fine.

“Sorry,” Jack repeated. “You know how it is, once you’ve started using console commands, it’s hard to stop.”

Mark was a little too out of it for the joke and awkwardness trickled into the space between them. “I don’t know where it is,” he admitted. “But it’s not gone, it can’t be. It’s probably the same place my hoodie is. If the nurses don’t have it somewhere around here, I’m sure the police do. I can go tonight to check...damn, no, the garda station will be closed. I could go...I could go _now_ , I suppose...they want a doctor to check on you anyway, and they always kick me out of the room if they’re examining you. I could get the doctor to look at you now and go find it? If that’s what you want, I mean. I can stay if you want. If you don’t want to be alone.”

Initially, Jack’s admission almost made Mark start to panic again, probably pissing off the monitor for just how much his heart rate was fluctuating in such a short amount of time. Well, if hospital equipment _had_ feelings, anyway. Yet the reassurance and ideas about a possible location for the collar helped to keep him calm. So long as Jack had an idea, he could still get it back. Hope was not lost yet. Of course, now he had a new dilemma. The hurdles never ceased.

If he sent Jack to look for the collar, he would be alone with the doctor. Up until now, that was not a big deal. Either he was unconscious, semi-conscious or just plain loopy for the examinations but _now_ , he was awake and alert and completely on-edge. The mere thought of what the doctor might do for this “check-up” almost set his heart to racing again. Having Jack present could act as a much needed comfort and distraction. However, keeping him there would mean waiting longer for an even bigger security blanket: the collar. _His_ collar, because Chica was _dead,_ and dead dogs did not need collars. Caught between a rock and a Jack again, it seemed.

Jack took a deep breath, angling a smile at Mark. “Just...anything I can do to help, okay? All you gotta do is let me know. I’m a boss and all that, but I’m not a mind reader, even though I’m trying my best.”

Jack looked almost as tired as Mark felt. He experienced another twinge of guilt, even as he drank in that smile. It was tired but genuine and pure and friendly, unlike the ones he had received from his captors for so long. To think he would forget how good a real smile could make him feel. The fact it was Jack’s made it all the better. He did not smile back, though. The joke was obviously strained and not very funny but Jack was still trying, so Mark tried too; attempted to humor him by huffing out something like a laugh and raising his eyebrows the way he used to when conveying sarcasm. It felt out of place on his face now.

“...if you could get it back, it would help…. It would…. I can… I can deal with the doctor, on my own…. I’d rather you went to find it while you still can… please…. It’s just… it’s important. To me. I’d… I’d appreciate it, so much….” The words were awkward and crunched between his teeth as he bit them out, but they were honest. He would face the doctor alone and deal with the consequences so Jack could go find his collar. Getting that back would make it all worth it.

For a brief moment, his arm shifted, and he contemplated setting a hand down on Jack’s. If only to reassure him, and silently thank him for going through the trouble; for being so good to him and wanting to help. It fell short, and just sort of landed pitifully near the edge of his bed, broken fingers twitching listlessly in the wake of their failure to make a physical connection. The warmth in his stomach became melancholic.

“I’ll go now,” Jack said. “Just...just remember that this isn’t a dream, okay? I _will_ come back. And I’ll have your collar. And maybe some coffee and a doughnut, because nobody said I can’t bring you food, right? Also, Mr. Doughnutman knows me on sight.”

Mark nodded quietly in response to Jack’s anxious assurances; the mirth still dancing in his brown eyes. “That sounds… pretty good. I guess tell Mr. Doughnutman hi for me….” He was not a hundred percent sure he could stomach coffee _or_ a doughnut, but he was damn well going to try. Anything to make him forget the taste of blended mush and dog food faster.

Then warm fingers were touching his own, and he abruptly sucked in a tight breath. Indeed, his heart rate monitor spiked- thankfully not enough to set off an alarm. His gaze had dropped immediately to Jack’s hand and it stayed there, watching as their skin met and comparing the colors. Two of the fingers beneath Jack’s were in a small splint; the pinky and ring fingers. They twitched under his touch but as the seconds crawled by and Mark had yet to jerk away, the beeping slowed down. It remained a bit erratic but otherwise seemed okay.

“Mr. Doughnutman makes the best doughnuts,” Jack said. “And I say that having had your sugary monstrosities of Krispy Kremes stuffed in my face. By you, if I recall correctly. And Wade. And Bob. And they are _delicious_ , but you have not lived, my friend, until you’ve had Irish doughnuts. Or Irish coffee. Not the spiked kind.”

Sucking gently on his lips while breathing steadily through his nose, Mark gingerly turned his hand so his fingertips could more directly brush with Jack’s own. It sent sparks of friction tingling up his arm but he held it there; relishing the warmth and stability of fingers with healthy, solid bones. His paranoid gaze softened to a half-lidded state like a frightened animal that had been scratched behind the ears, and he was soothed.

Mark was more than happy to indulge in the good memories. He had so many negative ones now; awful, traumatizing ones that could put horror movie scenes to shame. He needed to be reminded of the positive ones from before those sadists did their very best to ruin him inside and out. He remembered exactly the moment Jack was referring to. One of his first visits to the states for a con, when Bob, Wade and Mark all invited him to join them on their usual after-con doughnut run. Jack had initially been a bit horrified by the sheer amount of sugary glaze on the things but one or two warm bites of deliciousness later had him singing a very different tune. The YouTuber’s sweet tooth was quick to become legendary.

Jack loosely curled his fingers against Mark’s as he kept talking. “They’re just little doughnuts, but he makes them fresh, and he rolls them in powdered sugar or cinnamon sugar or you can forgo the sugar if you’re really insane or diabetic. I’ve been bringing tons of them to the nurses here, buttering them up for days so they like me. Gotta build my cred with them for when I try to break the rules, like coming in before visiting hours technically start, and staying way past when they’re over. Nurses are like anyone else, really. Bring them food and they’ll try to do whatever they can for you.”

Mark believed him about the doughnuts, and after months of eating flavorless gunk Jack’s descriptions of the things practically had his mouth watering. He had been so occupied with everything else he had not even considered hunger until now. He would definitely try one when Jack returned with them. Well, if he was not forced to give them all to the nurses to make up for everything, anyway. It was a funny thought, and also kind of adorable how Jack would play up his Irish charm and bribe the poor, unsuspecting workers with sweet treats just to check on him for a bit longer than was normally allowed.

The warm, fuzzy feeling returned and he welcomed it. The fingers still curled up with his own had grown familiar and comfortable. As Jack droned on and on in that melodious accent of his, Mark felt his eyelids growing heavy again. He was still resting his cheek against his knees but all the tension had long left his muscles as he tried to keep listening. More and more of Jack’s words settled into a pleasant buzz of nonsense. His vision lost its focus, even with the help of his glasses, and then faded away as his eyes fully slipped closed. It was less than a minute later that he was lightly snoring a counterpoint to Jack’s rambling while the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor sounded in the background.

 

 

 

Hours later, Mark had decided the heart rate monitor was no longer his arch nemesis and that there was someone he disliked more than the nurse. Though really, he had absolutely no reason to have any issues with his doctor besides his own damaged thinking. The man was kind and friendly when he introduced himself after Jack left to go seek out Mark’s collar. He wasn't bothered when Mark didn't shake his proffered hand and explained everything he was going to do to Mark before he did it. He took his time, and went about it all with a slow patience Mark _had_ appreciated.

Still, touching had to happen, and not just to his hands or arms. The doctor had to go under the hospital gown; touch at his chest, and his abdomen, and his legs. There were too many injuries. Too many bandages to check and change, too many infected wounds he had to be sure were improving. The fact Mark was still ill only made him all the more thorough and Mark hated every last second of it.

He had flinched and jerked so many times it was a wonder he did not receive whiplash. More than once, he had nearly shoved or struck out at the doctor for feeling along a spot that was too sensitive; that made him want to scream and curl in on himself until he could just disappear into thin air and _never_ be touched again but he didn’t. Mark reigned in his reflexes to avoid being sedated and cuffed to his bed once more. The nurse’s words haunted him; warning him of the consequences, of possibly losing Jack’s presence. Jack would not be able to work the same miracle twice.

He bit his tongue and clutched at his sheets and tried his best to _behave,_ and in that mindset, he retreated to tactics utilized in the room. Doctor or captors, there was no difference. They both touched him where he did not want to be touched. They would both punish him if he stepped out of line. If he struggled too much, he would be pinned down. It was the same, so he pulled into himself; buried his focus deep and tried to think of happy things. Like Chica’s wagging tail and lolling tongue, or Bob and Wade’s laughter, or Jack’s smile. He concentrated on those memories and tuned out of reality. His movements were stiff and mechanical as he let the doctor direct him however he needed. He gave robotic answers that did not really tell the doctor much of anything and eventually the man decided it would just be best to let him rest.

The bad man left, and the door clicked shut, and Mark was alone again. Acting on auto-pilot, as if he was back on that padded floor and not in a hospital bed, he laid down. Then he rolled over onto his side and curled into a fetal position for warmth and protection. If they kicked him like this, they had less chance of nailing a weak spot. It would be easy to defend his head. He could watch the same spot on the wall- clean, but still white, and still blank- and stubbornly _not_ think of whatever had just happened. He silently waiting for the door to open again, and for the next wave of torment to commence. Even covered in goosebumps from the ordeal, he did not reach down to tug up the blanket. In the room, there were no blankets. Only him, and his collar.

Occasionally, he reached towards his neck, only to touch skin. He would pinch at the air in front of his throat and feel disappointment at the lack of the familiar dog tag. Fiddling with the collar was just another distraction for him; a way to keep his hands busy without clawing incessantly at the bloody padding or pressing at injuries, new and old. When a tapping came at the door, he settled down again.

“Mark?”

He was unmoving when Jack entered and barely responded to his name. There was only a flicker of recognition in brown eyes lacking the spectacles they required; Mark’s glasses were on the bedside table because the blur of shapes and colors in his vision was easier to deal with in his current state.

“Mark, I’m back. Are you awake?” Jack talked slowly, accent thickening, and approached Mark from where Mark was staring. “Mark, I’ve got you presents…”

Vaguely, Mark knew the other person was talking to him. It took him a bit, but eventually he recognized the accent. _Jack._ Jack was back, and he had things. Mark tried to recall what exactly the Irishman had left to get. He could faintly smell something sweet, and what he thought might be coffee. A bit more life entered his eyes as the mold was further broken by the scent. Silently, his hand slid up with the urge to pinch at his tag again, but was met with air. It was then he remembered.

Monitor beeps speeding up a little, Mark focused on Jack with a visible wince and grimace. His eyes scanned Jack’s body for one specific item he prayed his fellow YouTuber had been able to find. They lighted on the paper bag, then the coffee carrier- lingering there a second longer, because he could not even remember what drinking something _hot_ felt like- before finally spying his prize. He knew, immediately, it was the right one. Not a replacement or substitute. A simple pink collar made of strong, durable material with a proper metal dog tag. It still said Chica, but that had not stopped his kidnappers from calling him “Markimoo”.

Even if he had not worn it for several months, he would have recognized it. Mark still remembered the day he bought it for Chica, so long ago. It had looked so cute on her. Quickly, he dug a hole in his subconscious and buried the memory. It would only make him despair over her death again. Right now, he had to focus on the present, which ironically included present(s). For the moment, his gaze was strictly locked on the collar, though he would be all too eager to accept the hoodie flung over Jack’s shoulder as well. The one from that rain-drenched evening.

Initially, he had pushed himself up and reached for the collar without really thinking about it, but then he stopped mid-stretch and froze; eyes glancing up to Jack’s face several times in a matter of seconds. Having an abrupt realization, he paled and lost some of the emotion that had filtered onto his face. He retreated to his position in the bed and just went back to watching the collar where it dangled enticingly from Jack’s fingertips. His mental state was still fragile. The room and its horrors lingered at the forefront of his mind and starkly, he recalled the consequences for snatching something out of his captors’ hands.

“Yeah, I found it.” Jack smiled, but it was tense. He dropped the doughnut bag from his hand and reached forward. He didn’t offer the collar to Mark, though. Mark’s gaze had followed the collar through its short distance of travel, and he had visibly tensed when Jack got close enough to set it down before him.  Jack gave it a nudge closer before pulling his hand back. Mark did not relax until Jack had moved away again, but even then he kept an eye on his friend for a bit longer. Just in case. Jack merely turned to the side, busying with setting down the coffees and popping the lids off. When nothing happened, and Jack appeared preoccupied, Mark finally focused his attention back on the one thing he had longed for since regaining full consciousness. Instead of sitting up, Mark did the opposite.

“I just got you black, but I got cream and sugar too. Wasn’t sure if you were up for fully loaded just yet. Figured we can always add stuff, but we can’t take it out if it’s too much.”

Mark settled himself low, as if just stretching out to go back to sleep; mostly on his stomach, with his palms flat on the bed. His chin pressed to the sheets as he stared at the collar. If Jack really was not paying Mark any attention, it would be for his own benefit, because right then Mark looked exactly like a dog patiently waiting for his owner to put on his collar. He even glanced up at Jack, once, before his brain kicked into gear and reminded him of precisely where he was. Embarrassment and shame coiled tightly in his gut and he silently reached forward with his hands; leaving his body in the same position. Gingerly, his fingers traced around the collar while he continually glanced at Jack. Like a child dipping their hand into the cookie jar with mom just a few feet away.

Nothing. Reassured, he dragged the collar closer to his face so he could toy with the metal tag, watching how the light of the monitor gleamed off its surface and scraping at the lettering with a fingernail. It was exactly as he remembered, but not like this. The positioning was all wrong. Belatedly, he pushed himself up so he could properly get at his neck. By then, he had stopped checking on Jack. Mark was too focused on unlatching the collar with trembling, stiff fingers that refused to cooperate. He was able to lift the collar to his neck and wrap it around, but that was as far as his injuries allowed.

He could not see the clasp, too many of his fingers were splinted and he could not even rotate his wrist the right way. He fumbled and slipped and dropped one or both sides of the collar more than once. His hands were beginning to ache and the rapidly growing despair became more and more visible on his face with each passing second. Mark had not put the collar on himself. His kidnapper had done it- forced it on him, actually, after straddling Mark and choking him into dazed complacency. If Mark took it off, he was punished; _s_ _everely._ Eventually he kept it on, and it was not him that had taken it off after arriving at the hospital. It had been a nurse.

This wasn’t right, it wasn’t working, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was all wrong. The collar wasn’t _supposed_ to be wrong. It was supposed to be the one _right_ thing he could get his hands on but his hands _refused to work._

Frustrated and quickly becoming distraught, Mark made a soft, distinctly wounded noise at the back of his throat where he sat on his knees in the middle of his hospital bed. His eyes slid back to the only other set of hands in the room, messing around with the coffee, and he found a whine bubbling away in his throat before he could stop himself. It was too natural. He felt pathetic. “Jack……”

Jack turned back to him with that same tense smile. “Yes Mark... _Jesus…_!”

Mark flinched, a little bit, from Jack’s exclamation. Even if it was hushed and more shocked than angry, the tone had hit a nerve built up deep inside of him over several months. He ducked his head a bit and dropped his gaze but did not let go of the collar. Nor did his pleading expression fade. There was no real missing the comparison that time: a dog showing guilt after upsetting his owner. He braced himself for physical repercussions but the bottom line was that he showed a clear obedience. In his current mentality, if Jack gave Mark a command, he might have very well followed through on it.

“Mark...would you...would you like me to help you with that?” There was a tremor to Jack’s voice that spoke to another, currently subdued aspect of Mark. It wasn’t enough to break him from his current mindset.

Thankfully for them both, the scenario was entirely different from what Mark had been trained for. Jack did not want to use and humiliate him, but help him. Mark tipped his head back up at the offer, assuming he was no longer in trouble, and his face actually lit up a bit. Still strikingly different from the norm, but if he could just get the collar on he would be satisfied. His security blanket would be returned. He did not speak, though. Caught up in his own conditioned head space and established parameters, he knew he was not supposed to speak unless told to do so. Jack had not given the command, so he settled for nodding that was just a touch too enthusiastic.

Eyes bright and expression tinged with eagerness, Mark set the collar back on the bed. Like Jack had done earlier, he nudged it closer to the Irishman. Unlike the man in front of him, he used his nose. Sitting back on his knees once more, Mark looked up at Jack with his face lacking the cover of glass and plastic. It was a blank slate; pupils slightly dilated and one hand half-raised in a near begging gesture while its partner kept his upper half supported. The pose would have been humorous or awkward in a normal setting, but it was heartbreaking in their current surroundings. Mark exposed his throat to Jack and patiently waited for his collar to be applied. He was a good boy. He did everything he was supposed to. Jack would be happy with him, right? Of course. That was how it worked. That was how it _always_ worked.

Jack grabbed the bed rail. The move triggered another flinch from Mark, but he held his readied position. There were times he had been smacked clean across the face, sent sprawling on the dirty floor, and was then expected to sit back up and continue begging like nothing happened. Like it was commonplace, and he deserved the abuse. Weathering through Jack’s sporadic movements was nothing in comparison and he felt a spark of hollow pride at just how _good_ he was.

“...okay.” Jack whispered the word as he reached down for the pink collar, his shaking hands setting the tag to jingling. “Okay, I can do this for you. I can…” Jack set the collar around Mark’s exposed neck, sliding his fingers back to the clasp.

Except Jack’s face was all wet, and his hands were still trembling. That was odd. Mark’s kidnappers had never cried, not once; not even in the beginning, when Mark had the strength to fight back and dished out a few good hits of his own. Their hands were always as sure and steady as their words and actions. They had no doubts about themselves or the horrible deeds they were committing but then, Jack _wasn’t_ them. Jack was one of his best friends, and he actually _cared_ about Mark. He was a _good person_. All of this was probably strange and awkward for him.

Yet he was still going to do it. Such a _good friend_ he was. Mark had never been more grateful to anyone. He felt an ease slipping over him alongside the rough texture of the collar as it was wrapped around his neck. The cool metal of the dog tag tickled the base of his throat and he closed his eyes to focus on it; turn it into the anchor he had been lacking since his admission into the hospital. It was exactly what he needed, in his addled mind. _'Finally.'_

“Nope, nope, nuh-uh, not happening, nope…” Jack pulled back. “Mark I can’t, I can’t do this to you, I can’t… I'll...I can get one of the nurses to do it, I’ll get the collar on you, I just, I can’t do it myself, I just…” He half-choked out a sob, clenching the collar in his hands.

Mark’s eyes opened with clear confusion swirling in their brown depths as he watched Jack turn away towards the door. He didn't understand. The collar was practically on him, but Jack had changed his mind and it made no sense. His brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth pinched slightly in his bewilderment. The hand that had been hovering near his abdomen dropped to the bed so he could lean over its edge towards his friend. He wanted to reach out, to tug at the back of his shirt and ask what the problem was because to him, there _wasn’t_ a problem.

However, he was a _good boy_ and good boys did not speak unless told, did not grab at people and break their training. He had to be good or Jack wouldn’t give him his collar. In his mind, that was concrete. If Jack left the room, it was hard to say how he would respond. Chances were high it would have been anything but pleasant.

Jack stood there, breathing shallowly, staring at the door. Thankfully, he managed to scoop up his resolve and turn back around. Later, when Mark could look back and understand the situation with much needed hindsight, he would be in awe of just how _strong_ Jack was. How much he had sacrificed, of himself, just to help Mark and in the future, he would make sure to remind Jack of that strength. For now, he was just happy to be getting his metaphorical life preserver back in a sea of uncertainty.

“You’re not a dog, Mark,” Jack whispered. “You’re not a dog, and you don’t _need_ to wear this. I’m not going to punish you for it. Nobody is. But...but if you _want_ to wear it...I can help you with that. If you _want_ to. And if you want to take it off, I can help you with that too.”

The collar was slipped back around Mark’sthroat, and that same relief washed over him. Something _familiar,_ something _grounding;_ something he knew and understood. Jack was still talking, and Mark _was_ listening, but the amount he actually registered was questionable at best. He was too deep in his own head space; thinking about what he “had” to do, how good the collar felt on his skin again. It lined up with the reddened patches of scraped flesh on his neck perfectly. Convinced he still was not allowed to speak, he settled for mouthing “thank you” and “thank you, so much” repeatedly. He resisted the urge to immediately finger and toy with the tag- he had been punished for _that_ in the past as well. The best training always came from a strict regimen.

Two fingers slipped beneath the collar, tugging lightly, and that surprised him. The kidnappers’ goals had never been comfort. If the collar was too tight, that just made it serve its purpose even better. He was hardly going to die from it. When Jack checked, and sniffled, and Mark realized the man’s face was still glistening with tears, he acted in the best way his current mindset knew how. There was one action that _always_ made the men happy; softened them up and earned him a pat and possibly made their actions a bit more lenient.

As Jack moved to pull away, Mark tilted his head so it could meet one of the retreating hands. He could have grabbed it with his own to hold it steady, but that was breaking the rules. He did his best to catch it with his face alone, letting the fingers stroke along the swell of his cheekbone. His eyes slipped closed and he dipped his head further to continue the gesture. Bits of his dark hair, feather light now that it had been washed, brushed against Jack’s hand. Mark nuzzled at his friend’s wrist and rubbed his cheek against Jack’s thumb almost affectionately; like he was trying to comfort or reassure Jack. Or showcase his loyalty. His hands remained firmly planted in his lap, and the little dog tag jingled softly with his movements as if to mock the Irishman.

A sob tore free of Jack’s chest, deep and wounded, and Jack jerked back, shoving his fist into his mouth and biting a knuckle. “I'm sorry,” Jack whispered around his fingers, his voice cracking and breaking. “I'm sorry, Mark, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.”

That… was not the reaction Mark had been hoping for, at all. It was shocking, and heart wrenching, and he nearly fell over from how quickly Jack jerked his hand back. He leaned dangerously, flailed a moment, then righted himself with the bed. Brown eyes blinking open with a startled clarity, he looked up at the crying mess Jack had become and felt his entire digestive tract twist up like a pretzel. Horror and mortification settled there at the bottom of the knots as he stared; stunned. What had he done? What the _Hell_ had he just done to completely _shatter_ Jack in such a way?

Strong, smiling, optimistic Jack who always offered his advice; a shoulder to lean on; a helping hand for anyone who needed it. _Especially_ his friends, but there he was, outright sobbing and taking a step back as multitudes of tears dripped from the stubble on his chin. Mark had never seen him so broken and _he_ had done that. Even if it was unintentional, even if he had nothing but Jack’s comfort in mind, it had all backfired-  _t_ _erribly._ Jack’s response was so raw and negative it had managed to shake Mark free from his own head in time to witness the consequences. Jack _was_ too good for him and this just proved it.

He had _no idea_ what to say. Jack had backed up, was still watching him through his tears and stuttering out heartbroken apologies. As if he had _anything_ to apologize for. The secure warmth the collar had provided now felt chilled against his skin; the reassurance empty and almost ineffective now that he was here, in the normal world. He reached up to grasp at it anyway, wrapping busted fingers around its front and the attached tag acting as a lifeline because he may have just chased away the only other one that he had.

“...Jack…. Jack, I… I’m….” Mark's thoughts circled like vultures. _'_ _What can I say??  Sorry for making you put a collar on me like I’m your pet? Sorry for making you feel like you’re on the same level as **them**?  Sorry for making you realize just how absolutely fucked up I’ve become?'_   He fidgeted with the metal tag, and bit at his lip as his gaze dropped off to the side. Watching Jack cry hurt; knowing he caused it made it hurt worse. Would reaching out to Jack anyway, after he visibly retreated, even help? Or would it just make Jack run even further from him? He didn’t know what to _do._

“I… I’m sorry, Jack, I… I just thought…. I thought it’d help, I’m…. I’m not….” Right _._ He wasn’t right; not in any sense of the word.

Jack pulled off his glasses, wiping at his face with his sleeve, little hiccuping sobs still fighting their way out. He shoved his glasses back on and peered blearily at Mark. “Are you...are you...is it better? Wearing it, does it...help?” He choked out the question, not looking at the heart rate monitor, just looking at Mark. He rubbed his hands on his sleeves. Then his sleeves on his cheeks; shining wet from his tears.

Jack had dodged Mark’s apologies and the reason for their existence entirely. Part of Mark was grateful for it, but the smarter part knew the evasion was only a temporary fix; a bandaid. They would need to rip it off, eventually, but right now neither of them were mentally strong enough to address it. He let himself be carried into a different vein of their conversation that still came back to the collar wrapped snugly around his neck. His hand had yet to leave its tag; thumb rubbing circles into the metal to warm it. The grooves of the lettering felt pleasant against the thick pad of his thumb. He knew their placement by heart.

“I’m not….” Mark stopped himself. Telling Jack the obvious, that he was nowhere _near_ better, and probably would not be for a long time... it would help nothing. He might be incapable of optimism at the moment but he could at the very least pick his words _carefully._ For Jack’s sake. “...yeah. Yeah, it helps. I… I have a focal point, now. I guess would be the simplest way to describe it? It’s hard.” Jack couldn’t understand. Mark knew he would try, but it wasn’t the same. He _wished_ Jack could. It would make everything easier for both of them.

“It’s… grounding. I feel more secure, with it on. Like I did in the…” His tongue failed him, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “...it was there for me. Now it can be again. I really… really needed this, Jack….” He finally looked up at the Irishman and attempted a smile; truly he did. It just… came out as more of a twitch in his lips, and the gentlest crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you….”

“Okay…” Jack was still shivering and rubbing his hands against his arms. “Okay. So. Um. Okay. You’re…” Jack seemed to struggle with his words. “Your doughnuts. I brought you both types with sugar, because you could use the sweetening up, and they’re both delicious anyway, I can’t pick between them, and really, they’re best warm so we should probably eat them now…” Jack was babbling as he eased himself closer and pulled the bag open. It crinkled beneath Jack’s fingers as he tugged, pulling out some napkins and laying them out on the sheets before dumping the doughnuts onto the makeshift plate.

“So, um, brown ones are cinnamon sugar, and white ones aren’t, and just...yeah. Help yourself. Have as many as you want. I got them for us to share, but I already had some this morning when I came in and you were still asleep, so…” Jack picked up a doughnut and shoved it in his mouth.

Just like that, the conversation was no longer involving Mark’s collar or what had just occurred between the two of them. It was a twisted sort of special moment that would no doubt be seared into their memories forever. Mark had probably fucked up pretty badly, but Jack was refusing to acknowledge or confront the disaster. Trying to dredge up the elephant in the room again would no doubt be met with negative consequences, much as he felt letting the incident linger and fester was likely a bad idea.

He would let Jack steer things away from the problem, for now. It was all too easy to be swayed by doughnuts, anyway. Since being admitted to the hospital he had initially received nutritional drips due to lengthy periods of being unconscious. They would probably begin trying to give him soft foods to slowly let his body become accustomed to the stuff again, but as of right now he had yet to consume _anything._ The only reason he failed to notice just how hungry he was stemmed from needing to ignore the sensation while in captivity.

The doughnuts looked and smelled _delicious._ Jack’s rambling about them only made them more desirable in Mark’s eyes. Listening to his friend talk and talk about anything was a million times better than watching him cry. As the little balls of sugary dough were set before him, he finally released the collar in favor of the treats. God bless Mr. Doughnutman for making them miniature nuggets of sheer goodness because they were easy for Mark’s damaged hands to pick up. Cinnamon-sugar immediately coated his splints and bandages; the nurse was probably going to be irritated. Good.

Resisting the temptation to just shove about three into his mouth all at once, Mark savored the first one he picked up. It smelled like fried food, of course, and some of the sugar went up his nose on accident when he gave it a whiff. He whipped his head to the side so he wouldn’t sneeze on the poor thing. Embarrassed, he gave the doughnut a lick, then realized Jack was still standing there _looking at him be an absolute loser_ and got **_more embarrassed._** A little frazzled, he finally popped the doughnut into his mouth and just chewed. Then he stopped, and sort of blanked for a few seconds, because my. _God._ ** _Food._**

He had forgotten what food really _tasted_ like when it was not all blended together into vitamin-filled mush; what textures were besides wet slop and crunchy kibble. The doughnut was soft, with an exterior that had some chew to it and the little grains of sugar settled themselves into his teeth instantly. He let the dough linger there for a moment, on his tongue, before swallowing it down. He concentrated on the way it slipped into his stomach, how it felt to eat real food again at his own pace and _enjoy_ it. Hand still coated with cinnamon, he traced the path down his hospital gown and then brought the same fingers to his lips. Instead of licking at them, like a normal person would, he just let them sit there.

His lips started to tremble, and soon it infected his fingers as well. The tremors extended to the rest of his body as he ducked forward a bit with a hitched breath. God, it was stupid. He was so _dumb_ for getting this emotional over something like _food_ but it was just **so good.** He clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes but the tears still gathered there as his breath hitched again with the threat of quiet sobs. Feeling awkward and silly in front of Jack, he stubbornly shoved one of the white doughnuts into his mouth next just to try and stop himself from blubbering like a big bubble-blowing baby.

Jack picked up another doughnut and ate it, licking his fingers. “ _Told_ you Irish doughnuts are best doughnuts,” Jack said. “You Americans think you’ve cornered the market on fried foods, but nope. You don’t hold a candle to us. Or the Scots. I’ll give ‘em that.”

Mark actually laughed, and it was a good thing he had just swallowed his second doughnut or he probably would have choked. The sound was rough and quiet and triggered a few small coughs, but it had definitely been a laugh. He looked back up at Jack with tears still prickling his eyes and nothing but positive emotions on his face for once. Seeing his friend licking at his fingers reassured Mark, and he stuck a finger or two of his own into his mouth. He groaned softly as more of the sweetness coated his tongue and hummed contently. Jack was a genius. He was _so_ happy doughnuts were the first real food he got to eat after being released.

Jack gave a little huff and a smile; grin slowly growing. The sight alone was worth putting up with a bit of smugness from Jack. “All right, all right, I concede. They’re delicious.” His voice shook but he managed to avoid outright crying.

Jack flexed his fingers and glanced over at the coffee. “Want to try to drink something? They should be cool enough now that they won’t scald.”

Stuffing another of the cinnamon-sugar doughnuts into his mouth, Mark eyed the coffee with just a hint of trepidation. Not that he was any less eager to consume something other than water, but could he even handle a hot beverage anymore? It was a silly thing to be concerned over but that appeared to be the recurring theme for the day. He swallowed.

“I… yeah. Okay. Coffee, right? You didn’t dump a bunch of Irish cream in there or Bailey’s or something, did you? I may be in a hospital already but it’s no real excuse to trigger my intolerance….” He was joking, of course- trying to, that is. Mark thought it fell kind of flat but maybe Jack would still appreciate the effort. It was better than having an anxiety attack, or zoning out on the wall, or… or acting like a… Coffee. Right. Mark buried the train of thought and made little grabby hands for the cup.

“Nah, I know you’ve got the wussiest liver in Ireland. I made sure yours was as black as...as black as...as black as Felix’s soul. Brought you cream and sugar and stuff if you wanted to try it, but figured we’d start plain.”

“Hey now. For your information, I have the wussiest liver in the _world._ Not just Ireland. Get over yourself, _laddie._ ” It was coming back. That familiar ease Mark had when conversing with Jack. The same thing had happened before Jack left to find his collar, before he had fallen asleep, and then the doctor had set him back to square one. Jack was familiar in a different way from that frightening examination; a connection to his life before the trauma. Someone that could subconsciously trigger the old facets of Mark’s personality and make him forget, even briefly, that anything had changed at all.

Turning back to the coffees, Jack popped the lid onto the black one and moved closer to Mark, holding it in his hands. “If it’s okay with you, though...I’d like to be the one holding it. I mean, it’s just, your hands are still pretty plastic, and I don’t want you to get a lapful of coffee because you’re not able to bend your fingers fully. You can, like, guide it and stuff, and I’ll just hold the weight of it so we don’t drop it. Is that okay?”

Huffing softly when Jack refused to outright give him the coffee cup, Mark conceded to the request with a barely visible pout. Mark had not been allowed to do much of _anything_ for three months. Now, he wanted to do whatever he could. Jack had already done so much for him, but he also didn’t want hot coffee spilling all over his lap so he reached up to cover Jack’s sticky fingers with his own splinted ones and pulled the beverage closer. Reveling in the warmth, he leaned in to sip a bit at the lip of the cup. Still hot, but not hot enough to sting, and bitter as all Hell.

Jack supported the cup but otherwise let Mark control it, angling it up to take a sip and lowering it when he was done. Like with the doughnuts, Mark had forgotten how good liquids other than water could be. He wasn’t a fan of really bitter things but it was _flavor_ and the heat trickling down his throat that made him tingle all over in an exceedingly pleasant way. He shivered, getting a few goosebumps on his arms, and took a bigger sip. Mark sighed. “It’s good…. But some cream would be nice. It’s a little too close to Felix for me.”

The mention of YouTube’s unopposed king sobered him up some. “...how are they, anyway? Our… our friends. Felix, Bob, Wade, the Grumps…. They’re okay, right?? Nothing’s happened to them?” Mark knew nothing of the outside world while in captivity. One of them could have _died_ and he would be absolutely oblivious to the event. Distantly, he recalled hearing their voices, at some point but it was all a blur he could not quite put his finger on.

“Everyone’s fine,” Jack said as he took the cup back, popping the lid and stirring in some creamer. “Everyone’s been missing you something horrible. They’ve all been worried. Felix was Skyping with me when I found you, so I asked him to tweet that you were still alive. I’ve...kind of kept them updated on how you were doing, but not in any detail or anything like that. Told them you were out of it. I actually haven’t told anyone you’ve woken up yet.” Jack licked his lips, tapping the spoon on the side of the cup and setting it aside, putting the lid back in place. “I need to. I promised your family I’d let them know the moment you were awake. They wanted to fly out here to sit with you, but I convinced them not to.” Jack bit his lip and glanced over at Mark. “I didn’t want them sitting around while you just slept. I figured you should at least be awake enough to appreciate their presence. Your mother has some very vulgar Korean. I didn’t let her know I understood what she was calling me…”

He offered the coffee back to Mark to try again. “I have my laptop and iPad with me. If you wanted to, we could try giving them a call…”

“Oh….” Mark was relieved to hear everyone was doing okay, but a little surprised Jack had yet to share the good news. Certainly, his waking hours had been a real rollercoaster but that was no reason to hide it. Maybe Jack had just been too busy running around and dealing with Mark to contact anyone; that sounded reasonable enough. “You should let them know, after we’re done eating. They’re probably still worried…. I’ll have to contact them soon.” It would prove difficult, but necessary. Mark was concerned about how each of them would react to the changes he had undergone. Not all of them were obvious, but anyone who knew him well would realize in a single look or word that something was distinctly  _off._

Then came the topic of his family. That was an entirely different can of worms. Mark had missed them terribly during his isolation, obviously, but tactics used to keep him sane were now against him. Shoving them out of his mind, refusing to dwell on what they might be feeling; if they had seen the pictures and videos. It would break their hearts. He could never look at them the same again, if they knew. Then again, that was just it:  _e_ _veryone_ knew.

He tried to chuckle again when Jack mentioned getting cussed out by his mother, but it was weak and flimsy. It sounded more like he was trying to clear his throat than anything. Perturbed, he took a few more deep sips of the now perfect coffee and sighed. “After some stuff that’s happened, I… think that wasn’t exactly a bad idea... telling them not to come…. I don’t doubt they’ve already seen the… I just, wouldn’t want them to… to see stuff, firsthand, how I….” At a loss for the proper words, Mark gestured vaguely in an attempt to convey his thought process. Maybe he would not have panicked if they were here. Or maybe he still would have, and traumatized them all further; shown them in person just what he had become. The possibility scared him half to death.

“...maybe, we can try, after you let the others know I’m okay? I mean, we’d need to check time zones, I don’t even know what time it is _here._ We can’t just call them if it’s like four o’clock in the morning….” They could, though. Mark knew his family wouldn’t care if it was _him_ on the line; awake and alert so they could hear his voice for the first time in over three months.

“Yeah,” Jack murmured, looking down at the coffee. “Yeah, I...you were _so_ out of it that first day, Mark. I don’t think you even knew it was me. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to not recognize _them_.”

“Yeah… yeah, I… I sort of figured….” Mark really did not remember much from that day. Sensations, mostly. Being trapped in the wet tarp was probably the most distinctive, but he believed what Jack said about his coherence. He barely recalled his own name by the time they dragged him out of there. Thankfully, it was just delirium and not true amnesia.

“Your channel’s doing okay. I mean, yeah, you get idiots posting on your old videos about how they’re unsubscribing because you haven’t posted anything new, but most comments are all just overwhelmingly supportive. They overflow onto all of our channels too.”

Mark had not thought to ask about his channel, but he was happy Jack brought it up anyway. The fans would have come to Mark’s mind eventually. They always did. He cared far too much about the people supporting him to just forget about them completely. Though the fact people were still doing so after such prolonged inactivity, after the things they _must_ have seen online, left him a little awestruck. Three months was a long time for a YouTube channel- or any media source- to be quiet. Mark’s fellow friends on the website probably helped out to keep his channel alive but at the end of the day it was left to his subscribers. When he felt up to it, he would need to make a vlog for them. They deserved one.

“I, um…I took a hiatus. Announced it this morning, actually. So far, reactions have been positive. Everyone wants you to get better.” Jack shook his head. “Aside from saying you’re alive, in Ireland, and in very bad health, I haven’t shared _any_ details with people who don’t know your Skype name. We’ve all been trying to keep things as quiet as possible. It’s...it’s sucked, really. It’s not just the internet clamoring to know how you’re doing. There were reporters and shit. I had to hide my hair to get past them. They’ve pretty much petered out, though. New scandals and all that.”

Jack shifted his hold on the coffee cup to just one hand to help himself to another doughnut. “We _will_ have to call your family today, though. Your brother made it pretty clear what he’d do to me if I didn’t. In English. If we put it off, _you_ get to take responsibility for it. I don’t want his rage coming down on me!”

Mark nearly choked on his next sip of coffee when Jack admitted to taking a hiatus. He had to lean back and take a few deep breaths to regain his composure. He could tell when Jack made a subtle attempt to keep the conversation going and dodge any possible questions. Mark wouldn’t let Jack get away with that.  “Wait a second. _You?_ A hiatus? I… Jack… did you do this because of- you didn’t need to. Jack, you don’t need to change anything for me. It’s already crazy how much you have to deal with, just because I happen to be here in Ireland instead of home, because the people that kidnapped me got a kick out of dumping me on the doorstep- no, wait, I didn’t even get _that_ courtesy, it was a fucking dumpster- of the second half of a made up ship! It’s not fair to _you._ I don’t want to hold you back….” He ended up getting a bit more emotional than he meant to, but the idea he was taking such a significant toll on Jack’s life upset him.

Mark shook his head. “And you’ve had to deal with reporters and stuff on top of it?? Fuck damn it, Jack, you shouldn’t have to contend with any of that! I’m the one that fucked up, they should be bothering me. I’m....” He ducked his head and ran his hands through his hair; forgetting the remnants of sugar on the digits and effectively smearing them everywhere. The hair was floofed. “I’m sorry…. That I caused all of this to happen….” Jack’s words about Thomas returned to him and he was struck by a fresh pang of guilt. “You’ve even been fielding stuff from my family. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. You haven’t had to do _any_ of this, but you did, and you just… fuck, Jack, you’re too damn good for me….” Mark buried his head in his arms as he rocked back and forth a bit. He had come to accept the trauma he would be inflicting on people he cared about during his disappearance, and then his revealed torture. Yet even now, _after_ his release, he was still causing trouble for one of the last people he _ever_ wanted to.

“I sent you away, Mark,” Jack said quietly. Mark heard him set the coffee back on the table. “That night, I...if you’d stayed with us, you would have been safe. I sent you to your room. _I_ did. I… Mark...I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You have no idea. I would’ve...I would’ve done _anything_ to get you out of there. I thought they were gonna kill you.”

Mark peeked up through his arms at Jack when he said that. Jack's eyes were squeezed shut, and his arms were curled tightly around himself. At first, he was confused, but then Jack explained what exactly he meant with the blunt statement. Slowly, as he spoke, Mark uncurled from himself to see the Irishman better. His arms slid down to his sides where they proceeded to pick at the bed sheets. A certain tension had entered the air when Jack delved into the past with his confession; like Mark had tripped an invisible wire with his words and completely changed the atmosphere into something charged and heavy. Jack was upset again, but it was a different kind of hurt. The focus was not directed at Mark or what he had suffered through.

It seemed to actually be focused on himself; which in Mark’s eyes was more concerning. Jack shouldn’t feel guilty about anything. Not after all he had done, and all he would probably continue to do for Mark. He had likely done everything within his power to help while Mark was still kidnapped too. Certainly, during his prolonged periods of isolation between torture sessions, Mark had let his thoughts drift back to that fateful night. He explored every choice he had made, all the options he had, where he had gone so terribly wrong. In the end, it really just boiled down to carelessness on his part. It was his _decision_ to leave. Jack had not forced him. It was his _decision_ to keep his single person room instead of asking to stay with someone else for safety. Had he even dead bolted the door? Mark doubted it. At the time, the risk had almost been a joke. He should have known better; should have taken it more seriously after all the kidnappings prior.

Jack wriggled one arm up to wipe at his eyes; he was crying again. “Mark, I doubt I’d be much good for YouTube right now even if you hadn’t been dumped here. It’s not _your_ fault I took a hiatus. It’s something that’s been coming for a long time, anyway. I haven’t taken a break in years. It’s for the best, really. I’m hardly too good for you. I’m just...I’m all you’ve got right now, while you’re here, and I don’t...I don’t want to disappoint you. Screw things up more than I already have.”

Well, some lessons had to be learned the hard way, but there was no reason Jack should be punishing himself for Mark’s mistakes. “It’s not your fault, Jack. I could’ve stayed there with you. I could’ve asked someone to leave with me. I should’ve known something was wrong, when I ended up so tired. I should’ve guessed something was up because I was almost more drunk than you guys, and you were the ones _actually_ drinking. But we were stupid- _I_ was stupid. We didn’t take the risk seriously enough and had to deal with the consequences. Do I regret my choices that night? Hell yeah I do. And I’ve already accepted the fact it’s my own fault. So don’t beat yourself up about it, because you’ve done nothing to deserve it.” Mark was not just saying so to make Jack feel better, though he hoped it would accomplish that as well. His reassurances were one hundred percent his belief and came straight from the heart. They were thoughts he had cemented in his mind as indisputable fact for months now.

“I know you would’ve helped if you could, Jack. I know you, and everyone else, must have done everything in their power to help…. And even if I don’t know it all, I appreciate it. I do. Just knowing you guys are still here for me after everything… it means a lot.” His eyes were burning now, but Jack was already crying, so he did his best to rein it in. “And I’m not dead. They didn’t kill me- though they could have, when they dumped me. You prevented that, Jack. _You._ And I’ll always be so grateful….” Mark heard his voice crack and paused to swallow hard. He had spoken a lot that day; more than he had in weeks. It was starting to take a toll but he pressed forward nonetheless because this was _important._

“You don’t have to lie to me, about YouTube. I _know_ you took the hiatus because of me. You don’t believe in breaks, Jack. It’s not your style. You’ve been going full tilt with your channel since it really started growing. If you put it on hold for something… it would have to be seriously important to you.” There was a tinge of fondness to his tone at the end, as he fully absorbed what he was saying. He quickly cleared his throat and continued speaking before either of them could linger on the connotations. “You may be all I have here, but I wouldn’t want anyone else…. Of course I want my family. But if they can’t be here, if I had to pick any other person, it would be you. And you have no idea how relieved I was to wake up… to you… and not them….” He knew he would not have to elaborate on whom he meant by “them”.

Scooting forward with a slight wince at the tug on his bandaged legs, Mark curled the fingers of his better hand around the bed rail. It's more damaged twin reached out as he leaned his body forward over the edge of the bed. The sugary splints managed to catch on the sleeve of Jack’s shirt and tugged a little bit, trying to coax the other man into looking at him. More than anything, Mark wished he could wipe Jack’s tears away and hug him until he forgot why he was even so sad in the first place. This would have to do for now. “You aren’t a disappointment. You’re _human._ And humans… humans make mistakes. Humans screw up. Humans- and we’re a prime example of this, Jack, we’ve said so before- are _stupid._ And that’s okay. Because humans try, too. And they don’t give up. And you haven’t given up on me, and _I_ haven’t given up on me- or you. So… meet me in the middle, yeah?”

It was cheesy and rambling and a little confusing, if Mark was to be honest. He had never been very good at giving speeches to begin with and three months of trauma had done nothing to improve his skills in that area, but he had always tried to do his best. He would do the same for Jack, because it looked like he needed some encouragement- badly. He hadn't released Jack’s shirt yet and was still leaning on the bed rail. His brown eyes, naked and bare without the glasses currently sitting on the bedside table, stared up at Jack with all the hope and reassurance he could muster. It was easier doing it for someone else. It had _always_ been easier. Bruised, bandaged and collared, Mark was still going to support his best friend, damn it. Even if it killed him. (Bad choice of words, bad choice of words, keep those inside his head for sure.)

Jack smiled, but Mark didn’t really believe it. “Okay, yeah, you are important enough to cause a hiatus. It’s not like I can record gameplay here, and hospitals aren’t the most conducive to vlogs. I don’t have enough time left when I get back to record and upload, so...the channel will still be there for me if I set it down for a week or two. It’s only a hiatus while you’re here, while I’m here with you. So, yes. Fine. It _is_ your fault. So get better so we can get you out of here, okay? And don’t...don’t go thinking I’m something that I’m not. You’re my best friend, Mark, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to screw you up. You’ve only been awake a handful of hours. So far, all I’ve managed to do correctly is get coffee and doughnuts.

“Speaking of which,” Jack said, clearing his throat in an obvious attempt to change the subject, “did you want any more? Coffee?”

Mark almost had hope that _some_ part of his babbling had gotten through to Jack, but then he realized the smile was off, and he immediately knew he had failed. Even if Jack conceded about YouTube, that had been the least of his concerns. Feeling disappointment creeping in, he ignored the question and chance at a topic change. He stalwartly refused to let Jack belittle himself without a second thought. Some of the things he had said were good advice, damn it all. Probably. Mark tugged a bit more emphatically at Jack’s shirt and leaned further over the bed rail. “Jack. You know that’s not true. You’ve done so much more than just get me some food, you-”

Then the bed rail caved under his weight and dropped forward on its hinges, promptly taking his entire upper body with it. Mark’s next words were sucked back down into his throat along with a stunned inhale as he felt himself falling forward off the bed. Fear and tension filled his previously stubborn expression and his eyes went wide, dropping down to the floor rising swiftly to meet his face. Yeah, there was likely a warning somewhere that said _not_ to lean your full weight on those things. Proof of his earlier statement about humans being stupid, he supposed. Or perhaps divine intervention for Jack, as it put an abrupt end to the conversation he was trying so desperately to avoid.

Mark was still toppling forward and was about to take the heart rate monitor over the bed with him.

Immediately, Jack lunged for him, getting beneath Mark’s body and breaking his fall, managing to keep him from tumbling off the bed. “Oh my god, Mark, are you okay!?” Jack straightened up, helping Mark get back on the bed.

The impact knocked all the air from Mark’s lungs. Jack was a lot softer than the floor but he had still been forced to grab rather haphazardly at Mark in his haste. Lacking the proper muscle and body fat to act as cushions, he felt every last inch of contact down to his bones- whole or otherwise. It rattled him and left him a wheezing, trembling mess as Jack worked to settle him back onto the bed. His arms and torso were throbbing in sporadic bursts that somehow managed to form a symphony of pain and discomfort just for him.

Note to self: leave bed rails right the fuck alone, please and thank you. Cringing and twitching a bit on the sheets, he tried to catch his breath so he could work out an answer for Jack. It was understandable the Irishman would be worried. Mark was pretty sure he had almost ripped his IV out and everything. (Again.) After taking a moment to cough in a way that just made all the aches in his torso worse, he fumbled for his glasses as he spoke. His already weak voice had dipped in volume and stability but he was still coherent, thankfully.

“I… ‘m fine… ‘m okay, I… nngh… fuck…. Wh-who the Hell invented… such a piece of shit system…?! I could have died. I could’ve… could’ve broken my face, ‘cause someone doesn’t… know how to lock a thing, Jack. You saw that right?? You saw that stupid? I-” He coughed a bit more and sighed, slipping on his glasses. “...I did a stupid.”

“Please tell me you didn’t do a stupid to try to make me feel better,” Jack said, hovering by the bedside. “Because that did not make me feel better.”

Mark scoffed. “Jack, buddy, bro, my main dude-man-ski… I love you, really I do, but I wouldn’t throw my face into the floor just to try and make you laugh…. I mean, okay, so not when I’m like _this._ Maybe if I was healthy, I’d have considered it….” He _had_ barreled straight into a wall for a video once. Faceplanting the floor was not all that different.

“I think...I should probably get your doctor.”

Any amicability Mark still had went straight out the window at those words. He immediately propped himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the throb in his ribs from the sudden action, and snapped,  ** _“NO.”_** A beat, and he realized how severe and _terrified_ he sounded. He licked at his lips and tried again. “I mean… _no._ I’m… I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Dude, I didn’t even need the heart rate monitor for that one,” Jack said, raising his hands. “Is...did he...was it okay? That I wasn’t here when he was?”

Mark winced, and slowly lowered himself back down to take the pressure off his ribs. He had been hoping he could avoid discussing what had happened with Jack when he returned and due to the collar, he was very nearly successful. Then fate had to go and throw a wrench into things, of course. He sighed softly. “...he didn’t do anything. He’s a great doctor, and seems like a good man. But I’m pretty sure a literal angel could check me over and I’d still… it would….” Another sigh; heavier and rougher that time as he reached up to floof at his hair. The action felt good. It felt _normal._

“I don’t even know if you being here would’ve helped. I’m not sure anything can. I’m just- I’m just _fucked up,_ Jack. I am. And there’s no sugarcoating it. I can’t even let someone trying to help me check my injuries without going into a numb, near catatonic state out of habit. I… I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want… to get lost in myself. In surviving.” His voice had gone quiet as he stared down at his battered hands. “I already _did_ that. I shouldn’t have to do it anymore, but my body doesn’t _get_ that. And I’m just so scared…. Scared that it’ll happen again, that I’ll just turn into this life-sized doll for him to move around and check over. I _know_ it’s important. That I can’t afford to take risks because I’m scared but it’s _hard._ ” The sting had returned to his eyes but he pushed it back, again. He was done with crying for today. Jack was concerned enough as it was.

Jack prodded the faulty bed rail with one finger, making it swing on its hinge. “Mark...if that fall...jarred something, he really should check you over. I won’t,” he continued quickly, “call him just yet, but...I’d like you to consider it. Remember, the sooner you heal, the sooner you can get out of here. Belly-flopping over the bed rail isn’t going to help you. What if...what if you were sedated? Maybe not a full knock you out sedation, but like...I dunno, the IV equivalent of laughing gas? To make examinations easier? Or would the sedation make things worse?”

Pulling a face, Mark’s fingers traced the edge where collar met skin and his brown eyes returned to his lap almost stubbornly. Nothing Jack had suggested prompted even a flicker of a good response out of Mark’s sullen posture. “If I’m going to be sedated… then just knock me out. Put me to sleep. Just the thought of laying there… stupid and out of it and helpless… aware but not aware enough to _do_ anything… it’s worse. So much worse. At the very least, when I was stuck in that room with _them,_ they let me be alert. They let me fight back if I had the strength….” He resolutely shook his head, closing his eyes and gripping at Chica’s tag. “If I did that, I might as well let them cuff me to the bed again…. At least now I know one of the rails is faulty….” he mumbled bitterly.

“He’s gonna be checking you over a lot,” Jack pointed out quietly. “I mean, the collar kinda…” He grimaced, twisting to pick up his own coffee and taking a large gulp.

“Don’t remind me….” Mark groaned, burying his face in his hands. Then he tensed. “Wait- _shit,_ the collar, there’s no way they’re gonna let me keep it if they see me wearing it- _Jack,_ Jack what do I do??” He was immediately dropping his hands from his face to grip at the accessory; panic clear in his expression. He had just gotten the collar _back._ He couldn’t stand it if they tried to take it again.

“I will _not_ let them take that collar from you,” Jack said firmly. “And I’m not gonna let them restrain you again.”

Mark’s eyes flicked up to Jack again. He had no idea how the other was going to stop anyone- especially medical professionals whom thought they knew best- from taking his collar away, but if Jack said he would do something then it was rare for him to fail on his claims. At least, when it came to real life actions. Video games were another kettle of fish.

The promise made the corners of Mark’s mouth twitch upwards again, but still there was no smile. His fingers never ceased playing with the collar because it was doing a fantastic job of keeping him calm. That was what he had been missing; the piece of the puzzle all the rest could hinge themselves off of. If the strip of fabric and printed metal could keep him sane while being tortured and brainwashed for three months, then it could certainly do so here. Jack’s continued support against restraints was also nice to hear, even if it should have been obvious. It was easy for Mark’s addled brain to forget little details like that, or improperly twist them.

“I don’t think we really have to worry about that now…. I’ll be good.” In hindsight, that could be a cringe-inducing statement but for Mark, it was just the truth. He would do his best to behave; just like in the room. The parallels made him distinctly uncomfortable but there was no escaping it until he was well again. For now, he would need to once more rely on the collar for distraction and comfort. Though, Jack was a _very_ pleasant addition.

“If sedation’s not gonna work...what might?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I can just deal with it, maybe I can tune it out without losing my head, or…” Nothing. He had absolutely no ideas.

“...does talking help? Would it help if I sat in on your examination and just talked to you?”

Mark was prepared to simply cave to despair and accept his fate when Jack finally obtained a shining light bulb hovering above his head- metaphorically speaking, of course. He shifted his full attention to the Irishman with a surprised blink. “I… guess talking would help…. It would be a better distraction than anything my brain could come up with…. Instead of it just being me and the doctor, while he focused on….” He trailed off and shook his head a bit. Nothing good would come of dwelling on the experience. Instead, he felt a trickle of embarrassment and light apprehension as he seriously considered Jack’s suggestion.

Jack would be present for the _whole_ examination. Sure, the doctor mainly only needed to check on his abdomen and maybe his arms, but that was still under his gown. Jack had seen him almost completely naked numerous times in the past but now it was different. Now, he found himself more conscientious and hyper aware than ever. Being exposed for several months did nothing to disperse his shame. Coughing a bit, Mark shifted to twiddling his thumbs instead, staring stubbornly down at the digits.

“...but… if you stay, you… might see something… bad. I mean, I know you’ve seen me naked by now, either on the website or in person from that first day, but… well, y’know, it’s just…. Please don’t look.”

“I won’t look,” Jack promised Mark quietly. “I’ll turn the chair away even, so my back’s to what he’s doing, and just sit up here by your head.”

“Thank you….” Mark murmured a bit roughly, closing his eyes. For a brief moment, one could see just how utterly _tired_ he was. The exhaustion went well beyond his physical recovery. Mentally and emotionally he needed to be bandaged and stitched up just as badly. Unfortunately, those wounds would always be more difficult to heal and would leave the most invisible, but harmful scars. Laying in the hospital bed like this, Mark looked twenty years older. Gaunt, bruised and frail in a way that was just terribly wrong to anyone who knew him. It was like watching a flower in the garden slowly wilt after being battered by the elements.

Yet when Mark opened his eyes again, they weren't just lifeless petals. His stem, while slumped, could straighten itself back up again. He was more than a fragile aftermath of extended trauma. He was human, and he was strong, and he could come back from this. Especially with the right support. For a moment, his fingers twitched against the bed sheets. Then he was looking over at Jack and sliding his hand a bit closer; offering it to him, giving him an opening. He looked less distraught about the doctor returning than he had before. “I think… if we do this, I might be okay. I don’t know. We have to try it to see, but… it has to be better than before….”

Jack took Mark's hand slowly, rubbing their fingertips together before curling their fingers around each other. He ran his thumb over the back of Mark's hand and squeezed very gently. “I'll talk to the doctor, try to explain. He understood about the lights. I'm sure if you tell him it's okay, he'll let me sit in with you this time, and if that works, then he'll be more willing to do it in the future. And I'll explain about the collar too, to make sure nobody tries to take it away when I'm not here.”

The sensation of skin friction and warmth that tingled up his arm when Jack took his hand was always what startled Mark and could make him flinch. However, this time he had offered the contact to Jack and prepared himself for the feeling. Once he was over that initial reflex and fear, he could relax into the gesture; recall how good it could feel to touch someone else without the risk of danger. It made Jack’s support tangible and thus all the more real to Mark. He managed to weakly squeeze back with the good fingers he had.

“Maybe…. I really hope so, if it works. I don’t know what we can do otherwise…. He seems like a good man. I hope it’ll be enough.” Mark really did not want to _hate_ the doctor. He was just scared, no matter how irrational the feeling might be.

“If it doesn’t work, we might have to go the sedation route, much as we’d both hate it,” Jack said quietly. “If that _does_ happen...I can stay in the room with you too, just to make sure nothing happens while you’re under. Not that I think the _doctor_ would do anything…and I won’t let him take the collar away then either.”

“Yeah…. So that’s our Plan B. Okay.” Mark _would_ feel safer being put under if he knew Jack was going to stick around. Just in case. Just to reassure the paranoid section of his brain. Right now, Jack was really all Mark had. The Irishman had not been exaggerating when he claimed such earlier. Calls and messages could only do so much. It was the people he had sitting next to him, holding his hand, being there _in person_ that had the greatest effect and the level of understanding Jack continued to showcase was one of the few things keeping Mark grounded.

The collar was another. He knew Jack wasn’t okay with it. Mark would question it if his friend was. If _anyone_ was, because again, Jack was right. The dependency was fucked up but that did not make it any less real. He knew he would have to work on it eventually, and he would, but first Mark had to get healthy. Once his body could support itself again, he could turn that healing inward. It was a relief that Jack continued to defend his coping mechanisms- at least, for now. Mark already had himself to argue with.

He reached up to toy with Chica’s tag as the collar was mentioned again; frowning slightly. His brown eyes were a little distant but still alert, thankfully. “...I know this is weird. And I know a lot of people would think it was wrong, or a step backwards…. And maybe it is. But I just… for now, I need it. For now, it helps. Anything they want from me, anything they want me to do, I’ll do it. If it means I can keep it with me….” Preferably _on_ him, but if he had to resort to just holding it in his hand then he would.

“No, it’s…” Jack sighed, bumping his thumb lightly over Mark’s knuckles. “I’m not going to say it’s okay,” he murmured. “We...we both know it’s pretty fucked up. But in light of everything else going on with you right now, it’s pretty low on the priorities list for things to heal. It’s not gonna…” Jack licked his lips and glanced away from that collar. “It’s not going to hurt you, so if it helps, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to keep it. It’s like turning the lights off. Someday you’ll be fine with the lights on. Until then, they can stay off.”

“...maybe tomorrow, we can open the blinds a little. Just need to get my brain to adjust, I guess…. Baby steps, right?” Mark’s eyes opened to shoot Jack a tiny, hopeful glance.

Jack nodded along with Mark’s suggestion. “Maybe we can get a lamp in here or something, not one of the fluorescent overheads, but just a little reading light, you know, get your eyes accustomed to something brighter. Because you’re in Ireland, dude. There’s not gonna be much sun for awhile...though it is almost late spring. Maybe the blinds _would_ be better. It’s supposed to rain most of the week.”

“Spring?? It’s- ...it is. Right. Yeah. Uh, that… we’ll sort it out later. Good idea, though….” Spring. It was _spring._ Mark had not even thought of that. Three months was difficult to really wrap his brain around but the “sudden” change in seasons helped to put it into perspective. Vaguely, he wondered what day it was; what month. Had he missed his birthday? No, Jack would have said something. _Three whole months._ An entire quarter of a year- lost. Belatedly, Mark realized he had a lot to catch up on.

“Maybe after the doctor examines you, we can try giving your family a call. It's…” Jack pulled out his phone to check the time, “almost six am for them, so not horribly off time-zonewise.”

Mark closed his eyes again and leaned further back into his pillows. He was so tired, but he had a few things to do first before he could let himself drift off again. Important things. There would be loads of time to sleep later. “I’d like that…. I know they’d be so happy, to see me awake and actually in a proper state of mind…. I really missed them.” A flicker of pain and longing passed across his face but was gone in a blink. He was trying very hard to maintain his composure and brace himself for the impending examination.

“Whenever you’re ready, let me know, and I’ll go find the doctor. If you want to just rest a bit first...that’ll probably be okay, if you’re just lying still.”

Mark’s gaze slid away to some non-distinct point in the corner as he sighed. “...I’ll be fine. I’d rather just get it over with, y’know? Be done with it. I know it won’t be the last one, but hopefully I’ll have until tomorrow at least before he has to… get his hands on me again.” Mark’s brain had phrased that about six other ways first and none of them were good. “I’m just… gonna try and keep calm while you do that. Get into a meditative state, maybe. Where’s one of those harmony orbs when you need it, huh?” The joke fell flat; wrong tone, wrong expression, clearly a bit forced but even an attempt at humor was better than focusing on the discomfort looming on the horizon.

Jack gave Mark’s hand another little squeeze. “Just...remember to breathe, I guess. Sorry I don’t have any better advice. I never learned how to meditate.” He held Mark’s hand for another minute before reluctantly pulling away. "I’ll...get the doctor now. Shouldn’t be too long before I’m back.”

Mark took Jack’s suggestion to heart and drew several deep breaths to settle his frazzled nerves. Worry about it later. _Worry about it later._ There was time. There was so much time, now that he knew he wasn’t going to die in that hole. He let Jack pull away and closed his eyes. “Eeeevery little bit helps….. Take your time. Really.”

“I’ll be right back,” Jack repeated, before he slipped out of the room.

Mark _knew_ Jack had to be gone for at least five to ten minutes or so, but it felt like he only had sixty seconds to prepare himself. The entire time had been spent fidgeting and worrying at his lips with his teeth until he was sure they were liable to split under the pressure. Deep breaths helped to stop his anxiety from building up into an attack but it was still there, skulking beneath the surface. He could hear the soft muffle of voices outside the door before it opened.

“Mark? I’m back. I can stay during the exam if you say it’s okay.”

Jack entered, but the doctor was right behind him and Mark swallowed nervously. “It’s okay. I want you to stay with me. Totally have my permission. One hundred percent accepted.” He was still stretched out on his hospital bed with one hand curled into a loose fist at his side. The other was firmly gripping the dog tag like a lifeline. Mark was so used to the feel and movement of it that he completely failed to notice how all of the fiddling was making the rubbed raw skin around his neck worse. Compared to being half-choked by the collar, a little rash was nothing.

Jack pulled his chair close to Mark’s bed, as he had promised, taking a seat beside him and facing toward his head. “You were wondering how everyone was doing, right? Nobody’s really changed all that much in three months. Bob’s vlogs are really taking off. He and Mandy are able to do a lot of good work with their channel…” Jack kept his eyes resolutely on Mark’s face.

It only took Mark about half a minute to grow accustomed to Jack’s unusual closeness. At first, it made him a little uncomfortable, but then it became welcomed because it helped to block out his view of the doctor. Jack filled up almost his entire field of vision so that aside from a few paranoid glances, he could focus on the bright green distraction set before him. When the doctor began to lift his gown to check along his bandaged abdomen, Mark had uncurled his fist and twitched in Jack’s direction for a second time. The movement was abrupt and almost desperate.

Jack touched their fingers together again without hesitation and gave the good ones a reassuring squeeze. Mark was able to release the tight breath he had been holding captive in his lungs. Besides the occasional question from the doctor, it was all too easy for him to give Jack’s rambling his full attention. Even if he had not been absent from his friends’ lives for three months, he would have loved hearing about them. Silently, Mark made it a goal to get into contact with them very soon. Maybe even tomorrow, if he was feeling up for it. Perhaps, if they saw him bandaged and alert and just a little happy, it would help to wash away those terrible images from their minds faster. One could only hope. When the doctor pulled away, Mark sighed in relief. He thought it was over.

“Mark, I would like to see your neck.”

Instead, the last thing he wanted to hear reached his ears and he tensed. Immediately, the grip on his collar became possessive. His expression- previously wary but content- shifted into an anxious leer spotted by fear and apprehension. It was an ugly look, based on ugly feelings, and he hated it... but there it was.

Jack glared daggers at the doctor, but Dr. Agon calmly met his gaze before looking back to Mark. “May I remove your collar for a few minutes?”

Mark glanced at Jack, wishing he could say something to dissuade the doctor, but of course there was nothing. They were both lucky the man was lenient and understanding enough to cave thus far to their requests. In the end, if he wanted to see Mark’s neck, he was going to do it.

Fearing serious measures like sedation or more restraints, Mark had to clench his jaw so his lips would stop trembling. His heart rate was starting to pick up but with much effort, he was able to drop the fingers from his collar. He looked like a rubber band stretched too taut as he turned his head resolutely away from them both. Part of him wanted to retreat back into his head to escape the small exposure, the lack of his safety net, but Jack’s hand was still squeezing at his fingers and _that_ kept him grounded- not the collar. He really couldn’t keep the doctor waiting any longer. He had made his decision, so now he had to stick with it, for better or worse.

“...yeah. Yeah, it’s… it’s fine. You can. Just… put it back, when you’re done… please.” The words stuck to his teeth and tongue like fresh taffy but tasted like paste. He felt a little sick and knew he was going to start sweating in a minute if his heart didn’t calm down. _'_ _Deep breaths.'_ Mark sucked them in and tried to focus on the wall; on the warm, calloused fingers encircling his own. _'_ _Please, Jack,'_ he thought to himself, _'_ _please keep talking.'_

“Thank you, Mark,” Dr. Agon said, reaching around Mark’s neck and carefully removing the collar. He laid it over Mark’s bicep, just below the end of the gown’s short sleeve, so Mark could still feel the collar against his skin and immediately set to work cleaning and bandaging the raw skin on Mark’s neck.

Mark was rigid for the duration of Dr. Agon removing his collar. Once it was off, he found his head swiveling back around to face Jack again because the wall was too blank and he needed something to pick apart with his eyes. Bright green, brilliant blue, the tickle of brown stubble that stretched and scrunched as Jack spoke. The sensation of the collar on his skin reassured him a little and he knew he would need to seriously thank the doctor when all was said and done. The man was truly going out of his way to make certain Mark was as comfortable as possible. Finally, luck was on his side, it seemed.

Jack watched the entire process with a possessive glower, keeping Mark’s fingers clasped between his own. He had paused when Dr. Agon asked to remove the collar, but now that Dr. Agon was done talking, Jack resumed, filling Mark in on Wade’s life. “He and Molly are still engaged, but they’re absolutely refusing to talk dates until they know when you’re available. They said they absolutely won’t be doofs like Bob and pick your birthday, no matter how perfect the venue is. But then Bob pointed out that if they _did_ , it would definitely be easy for all of us to remember…”

“I wouldn’t mind if they decided to get hitched on my birthday. So long as everyone brought two gifts to the wedding. One for them, and one for me.” Mark’s voice was tremulous; it was impossible to miss how the muscles in his jaw and neck twitched beneath the doctor’s touch, but engaging in the conversation served as a better distraction than simply listening. “Though if it’s gonna be summer already they might need to fly out to Ireland for it….” Which might not be too bad of an idea; the country had plenty of beautiful venues for a wedding, so long as there were no sudden downpours. Of course, Mark was just kidding.

“There’d have to be two cakes too,” Jack decided. “Wedding cakes and birthday cakes are _entirely_ different. And while Ireland has a lot of lovely places for weddings, I don’t think they were planning on getting married this year. I guess planning a wedding is time consuming or something.” Jack shrugged.

Even as Jack talked about Wade and Molly’s future wedding, he kept angling little scowls at the doctor. Dr. Agon tactfully ignored his anger, taping the last bit of gauze in place and picking up the collar again. “This may feel a bit odd at first, Mark, but the gauze will protect your neck from further chafing while you heal.” He refastened the collar around Mark’s throat carefully.

By the end of it, when Mark’s neck was carefully patched up with gauze and medical tape, it felt odd. He was finally beginning to grow on having his body covered in general, but his neck was different. There _had_ been something on his neck- for weeks. Now, there was something else. Something thick and a little sticky in a way that made its movements stiff. He didn’t like it. He also didn’t like how the bandages prevented his collar from properly wrapping around his skin. It was the weight and feel of the material that comforted him. Lips twitching down into a frown, he toyed with the accessory vacantly. Maybe later, after Jack had left, he could just pick off the bandages and then slip them on again in the morning, before any of the nurses showed up. “Okay….”

When the doctor finished and moved away, Jack gave Mark’s hand a little squeeze. “Thanks.” Dr. Agon nodded at the pair, offering them a reassuring smile, before seeing himself out of the room.

Once the doctor had left, Mark’s entire demeanor changed. Almost all the tension leaked out of his body like someone had pulled the stopper out of a sink. His shoulders slumped and he slid back against the pillows. A long, drawn out exhale escaped his lips. The lines in his face smoothed out and Mark closed his eyes for a few moments to settle down. _'I'm_ _okay. It's okay.'_ Nothing bad had happened- besides the collar issue. The doctor had fixed him up and that was that.

Jack stayed where he was, sitting by Mark’s head, holding his hand. “How are you feeling?” The doctor had found some stitches that had pulled open on Mark’s belly from the fall, but they were easy to patch up. Mark would be fine; physically speaking. “About...what just happened?”

Dragging a thumb along his collar for a moment, Mark dropped the appendage to instead feel lightly at his stomach through the gown. It was tender and sore but no longer stung quite as badly when he shifted the muscles there. Letting his head sink into the soft cradle of the pillows, he gave Jack’s hand a minor squeeze back. The fingers, restless, set to tapping out a sporadic beat against Jack’s knuckles with his thumb. “I’m… better. I didn’t go back into that state again. The one you found me in, when you got back. I almost panicked once or twice but your voice always snapped me out of it. I… that was a good topic, talking about our friends.”

Jack visibly relaxed as well, giving Mark’s hand another light squeeze. “We have so many friends. I can talk about them for days. I’ll try to dish out the stories over time, so we can occupy as many exams as we need. Oh god, and the YouTube comments drama, _that_ is going to take a full day in and of itself: long story short, YouTube changed their systems _again_. About six times.”

“I needed that. And I still wasn’t comfortable with him touching me, but I think if you’re here when he does it… if we can just talk, like this… I can handle it. He even… let me keep the collar on. I hated when he removed it, _hated it,_ but he put it back. So I can’t really be mad…. I didn’t even know my neck needed any attention….”

He huffed softly. “I seriously need to thank him, for all of this.” Even if he regretted the neck bandages and would be taking them off, as soon as possible, because they were too _in the way._

“I’ll bring him some doughnuts next time,” Jack agreed with a little nod. “He’s...wow. I wonder if they picked him specifically to work with you. He’s _really_ good. They, uh, the garda--police--called on me the day before. Wanted to go over what I should and shouldn’t do if I found you. Depended on what state you were in.” Jack gave a little shiver. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they’d warned the hospital too. Only hospital around, pretty obvious they’d be taking you in.”

It felt good to chat about normal things like their friends getting married or YouTube’s latest shenanigans; little slices of life that helped Mark to forget how his had become a horror drama for a while. “You’re probably right. I’m not entirely sure how this stuff works in Ireland, but I bet they’ve got some professionals that have experience with this sort of thing. Sensitive patients….” That was putting it lightly. “And if this was the nearest hospital, they’d be sure to alert the guy ahead of time. At least the Ship Sinker’s predictability played in our favor a little…. Though how he never ends up getting caught just… just dumping bodies, I’ll never know. It doesn’t make any sense.” Part of him felt there should be cops _everywhere_ on the day of a victim’s release, but at the same time, he knew a sight like that could scare the kidnapper off and scaring kidnappers _never_ tended to end well for the victim.

Not that Mark had the best experience either. He knew he was not the first, but apparently the culprits had gained an especially mean and sadistic streak between conventions. Everyone else had been left neatly on their “partner’s” doorstep- even the corpse. (Okay, that was kind of mean wording, but it was true!) Yet he’d been wrapped up like a secret present and dumped with the rest of the trash. Mark knew Jack hadn’t found him right away; he'd been waiting too long in the rain. He was lucky the other had found him _at all._ Honestly, if those assholes had wanted him dead so badly, they could have just killed him and saved him the trouble of being buried in plastic and **rained on.**

He hadn’t realized it, but the topic had set his mind into an anxious and negative loop of a thought process. Mark’s heart rate monitor was ticking back up as his hand became clammy in Jack’s grip. His breathing grew shaky. His pupils were starting to dilate, and his free hand had found its way to his hair. It didn’t floof the mess of black and fading dye; instead it gripped. He didn’t pull on the follicles but the pressure was enough to probably place strain on his scalp. He stared down at his lap, unseeing. _'_ _It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. Why me? Why’d they decide to go the extra mile with me and then just leave me for dead? It’s stupid. It sucks. It’s not fair, not fair, notfairnotfair-'_

“He must have dumped you _really_ fucking early,” Jack said quietly. “I know the police said they were gonna increase their drive-bys and stuff, have a greater presence in the area and be on guard for any suspicious behavior, but…” He bit his lip, and then sighed. “You were already there in the morning. I just didn’t realize until later…”

 _Really fucking early,_ yeah, Mark could believe that. His time spent in that tarp might have been a delirious blur, but he had hardly forgotten what his brain _could_ register about the experience. Silenced, immobilized, trapped under layers of plastic like some above ground coffin. He was lucky he had been able to breathe between the small hole above his head at one end of the tarp and his sickened lungs. Muffled noises and voices faded in or out as the time crawled by at its own languid pace. Nothing he did garnered any attention. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t see- only feel the tarp and tape against his feverish skin; sticky with sweat. Then the rain had come with its booming thunder. Mark was soaked to the bone by the time Jack rolled him out of that prison. Afterwards it was all a mess of green and blue, soft and warm, a familiar scent to settle his nerves and too many voices.

Now, he could recall all of it. The scent of wet plastic mixed with what his own body was giving off, the pitter-patter of raindrops all around him. Blinking water- or was it sweat?- out of his eyes. His breathing became heavier as he curled forward a bit. There was little doubt he would have been grappling at himself with both hands if Jack wasn’t firmly gripping one of them. He could feel the plastic all around him, wrapping against his body, closing him in like the hospital walls last night. It was so much worse, because the sensations didn’t stem from his imagination, but his memory. He had _lived_ them.

“Mark? _Shit_ , Mark, Mark, you’re... hospital, Mark, you’re in Ireland... Jack…”

Just like that day, Jack’s voice was calling out to him. Distant and distorted as if they were separated by the surface of some great body of water. Like Mark was fathoms deep within the ocean while Jack tried to reach him from the shore. His heart rate spiked erratically. Mark tried to catch what snippets he could through the haze. _Hospital._ He was in the hospital. Not the tarp, the hospital. _Ireland._ Yeah, he was there too, but the tarp was in Ireland- not helping. Jack. _Jack,_ Jack was there. He was there with him again, but the rain was gone, and the comforting scent, and the pleasant tingle of warmth seeping from Jack’s body into his own. Shaking now, he messily disentangled fingers from his hair to clutch at Jack’s hand with both of his own. Solid, solid, Jack was solid and _there_ and **present.**

He ducked his head; squeezed his eyes shut as his face pinched with terror and dread. “ _No, no, no,_ I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to be there, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t- Jack. _Jack,_ I can’t, I can’t I can’t I _can’t,_ please, it’s not fair- I don’t want to- didn’t. Didn’t want to, didn’t do _anything._ I-I did _everything_ they said, everything they asked, even when I was too sick- _I did._ I was good. I behaved, I was a good boy, but they still put me in there. They still _did it_ and I was so scared, I was trapped, I couldn’t breathe- can’t- I can’t-”

“...not going back, Mark... won’t let you... won’t let _anyone..._ promise, Mark... never going back there…”

Mark's next breath came as a wheeze, and then his recovering lungs stuttered and triggered a series of coughs. Sputtering and shaking like a leaf, he retreated from Jack’s hand in favor of hacking into his palms while he doubled over. In the space between his wrists and neck, dangling at his throat, the little dog tag jingled in further mockery of Jack’s attempts to maintain his best friend’s sanity.

 _Never, never, never-_ Jack claimed never, but could Mark really believe him? Could he trust that? How many times had they both said this exact thing would _never_ happen to them? Laughed off the entire thing as a joke, or believed the chances were too slim? There was _always_ a possibility and _that_ was what left Mark a terrified, paranoid wreck.

As Mark broke away from Jack to curl up, choking on his own lungs, Jack moved, climbing onto the bed beside Mark. It caused the bed to dip and Mark would have cried out on reflex, but he was still caught up in trying not to choke to death on his own air supply.

“Mark, it’s going to be okay. You’re safe here. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you…” Jack gathered Mark into his arms, into his lap.  Mark flinched and jerked as he was scooped up. Still weak and frail as ever; time might as well have not passed at all. He was helpless to fight, unable to struggle, just had to fold up against Jack’s chest with wheezing, sputtering breaths. At least his limbs were all free. His knees bent beneath the pooled material of his hospital gown, and thin arms pressed inward as if to defend his vulnerable chest. His head, heavy and floppy with newfound exhaustion, dropped against Jack’s shoulder with little coaxing. Jack tucked Mark’s face against his spare hoodie, still thrown over his shoulder, but then he tugged it down and wrapped it around Mark’s shoulders instead, replicating that night, that first night of Mark’s freedom.

 _I’ve got you,_ they said. Someone had him. _Jack._ Jack had him. Of course. How could he forget? Some of his tension left, but his heart was still pounding wildly in his chest alongside rattling lungs. Mark had stopped seeing his immediate surroundings a while ago, but the invasion of other sensations in the present was helping. He could still hear Jack, even if he couldn’t understand all of the words, and he could feel the warmth seeping through a thin T-shirt. Beneath his wrist, there was a steady thumping well out of sync with his own heartbeat. Every accented word spoken set a rumble throughout Jack’s narrow chest; the vibrations reverberating against his cheek. All in the present. All familiar. All safe. There were more words.

“Mark, I’m here, Jack’s here, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me, feel me breathing. In….and out…” Jack pressed his face against Mark’s hair. “Just breathe, Mark. In...and out…”

 _Breathe. In. Out._ ** _Breathe._** He could do that. He could breathe. It was harder than it should have been. His lungs were shaken and didn’t want to fully cooperate. It felt like there was too much moisture in his throat, tickling and trying to make him cough. He turned to bury his head in Jack’s collarbone and _breathed._ There it was. Reassurance washed over him as he felt that same softness envelop his body. No rain to sog it down; his fingers immediately latched onto the hoodie. Mark snuggled deeper into the sensations. Everything was lining up. Things were starting to make sense. He could feel the rise and fall of Jack’s chest, and he tried to mimic it. He listened to the repeated words just above his head: in, out, in out, in and out. The breaths were wet and ragged, but he was breathing, and as the minutes ticked by the monitor’s frantic beeps began to slow.

Closing his eyes as beads of sweat dripped down past his brow, Mark buried himself into the sensations and smell of Jack. He burrowed between hoodie and Irishman much as he had with the fuzzy blanket on the couch that day, letting the growing blackness at the edges of his vision creep further and further in until there was nothing more to see; nothing more to feel. He shivered where he sat huddled in Jack’s lap, released a few soft coughs, and a short time later slipped silently into unconsciousness. The shaky lift of the hoodie as he breathed, the tickle of warm, wet air against Jack’s bare neck and the steady beep of the monitor assured the YouTuber Mark was nothing worse than asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	44. 4/25: Excess Layers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark scratches an itch.

Mark carefully wiggled the collar up his neck until it was tucked beneath his chin, exposing the bandages Dr. Agon had applied earlier. Technically, it would be easier just to remove the accessory, but he was trained specifically not to. Punishments and consequences conditioned him into immediately disregarding thoughts like that.

Besides, with his fingers splinted as they were, he’d never be able to get it back on again.

The room was dark besides muted light seeping in through the gap between his curtains from the surrounding city. The dim glow of humming monitors supplemented it but didn’t make much of a difference. Mark didn’t mind. It was better than the blinding whiteness or thick, pure blackness of _that room._ He didn’t need to see what he was doing; only feel.

Which was still a task in itself with bandaged fingers, but he managed. Mark had long set his glasses aside. They wouldn’t be of any use to him.

With the collar mostly out of the way, Mark began picking and peeling at the bandages. It stung a little but they unraveled easily enough once he dislodged the ends. Strips and bits of white fluttered down to pile up in his lap as he exposed more and more irritated skin. Immediately, he was breathing easier. He felt less agitated. Mark could feel the familiar roughness of the collar around his neck and his shoulders slumped in relief.

It wasn’t as snug as it should be, but that was fine. Mark callously brushed the remnants of his bandages off the bed and settled back against his pillows. He could deal with the consequences in the morning. Right now, he was alone, and he needed that tiny slice of familiarity.

Quietly, his better hand came up to fiddle with the dog tag. The other remained listlessly at his side while he stared out the small chunk of window that was visible. A dull ache buzzed in his chest.

It wasn’t Los Angeles. It wasn’t even Cincinnati. The lights out there belonged to another city; another country; another _continent._ Worlds and worlds away from everything Mark had ever known. Out there were a people with a language and a culture he only truly understood a bastardized version of. He had no one here.

No one except Jack. Dependent, loyal, generous, _caring_ Jack who promised he would be back tomorrow. Back with “better food” and strained smiles and too many tears, tears because of Mark. Exhaustion, stress, a goddamned _hiatus_ because of Mark.

He’d blown into Jack’s world like a bomb and shaken up everything; including Jack himself. Jack, who should have _nothing_ to do with any of this. Jack, who was only connected to the incident at all because his channel’s name made up half their ship’s. It wasn’t fair. It was ridiculous. Much as Mark didn’t want to suffer this burden alone, he also didn’t want to have Jack share that heavy weight on his shoulders. He deserved better- so much better than Mark.

However, Jack was just as stubborn as Mark and wouldn’t leave him behind. He wouldn’t leave Mark alone in foreign lands, even if he’d been healthy. Nothing Mark said or did would change Jack’s mind now that it was settled. He closed his eyes and wondered if it would be selfish to just enjoy Jack’s attentions while they lasted. Probably.

He knew sleep only came easy to him because his body was still healing. Mark hoped that didn’t change once he was physically well again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	45. 5/9: Brother Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark catches up with some flesh and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I mean no disrespect to Thomas if he comes off as OOC. I only know as much about him as the rest of the fandom, and I'm taking some liberties with his possible personality from what snapshots we've all seen. (Plus my own experience with being an older sibling and having a little brother.)

“You know it kind of feels like I’m watching a medical drama or something. Where’s House?”

“Oh _ha ha,_ very funny. We’re not even in the right _country_ for him to have a chance of being here, Tom.”

“Are you saying there’s an actual House working at a hospital here in the States? You know he’s a fictional character, right?”

“You know what I mean! Gosh, a guy can’t even catch a break when he’s in the hospital.”

“Haha, sorry bro. You’re just so easy to tease.”

“I could say the same about you, ya jerk. How’s the dating scene going?” Mark smirked when Tom’s face took on a notable hint of color.

“Okay, low blow. Moving on. You done doing laps around your hospital room? Maybe you should sit down for a minute. You look kind of pale.” The concern in Tom’s voice was obvious.

Mark rolled his eyes but conceded to his brother’s request, if only to stop him from worrying. He took a seat by the window and turned the little laptop so they were still facing each other. God bless Skype. “Tom, we’ve been over this. I _always_ look kind of pale. I haven’t had a chance to get that healthy California glow back. Do you even _know_ how little sunlight there is here? It’s like, perpetually cloudy _all the time!_ I don’t know how they do it.”

“Sunshine child. Mom always said you were more plant than human; soaking up all the rays. Don’t even know what you would’ve done with yourself if we’d stayed in Hawaii.”

“Are you even kidding me? I’d have become a literal god of the oceans. I’d have sun-kissed skin and long, flowing black hair. I would be a surfing maestro and have full command of the crystal blue waters at my disposal!” Mark gave his hair a little flip and extended his splinted hand dramatically. He’d tried deepening his voice to suit the description but ended up making it break into a rough squeak; not nearly as effective.

It was Tom’s turn to roll eyes at him. “Mark, you _hate_ the ocean.”

“Oh yeah. Good point. Well, uh… I’ll be a god of the _stars,_ then!!”

“Starlord?”

“Yeah, Starlo- oh _ha ha ha._ You kill me. Really. Hardy-har-har. Everyone laugh ‘cause my brother’s a real comedian over here!” Mark gently clapped his hands a bit.

Tom just shook his head. “Well one of us has to be the funny brother.” He smirked when Mark gasped, placing a hand to the bandages wrapped snugly around his neck- around the hidden collar there.

“Rude!!! From my very own _flesh and blood!_ ”

“I only do it ‘cause I love you. Someone needs to take that ego down a notch.”

“Why, I never. I am one of the most _humble_ people on the face of this Earth.”

“No ‘humble’ person would _ever_ say that, Mark.”

“Do not question me!”

“Okay, okay, fine. Moving on. Why don’t you tell me about how things have been going with Jack…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't _honestly_ think I was gonna include the brothers gossiping about everyone's favorite Irish green bean, now did you? ;)
> 
> Also, I swear I wrote this segment _before_ seeing Moana, yet the similarities Mark is drawing to Maui with his description are a little perturbing.... XD (Especially since I wrote a parody of You're Welcome from Mark's POV. I'm awful.)
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	46. 5/30: Finding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark finds himself discharged from the hospital, but not the country.

One day at a time chewed through the weeks. Mark grew stronger every day, but not without his struggles. A good day had only a couple breakdowns or zone-outs. A great day meant Jack hadn’t climbed onto Mark’s bed to rock him back to sanity.

Great days came more and more frequently, with Mark buoyed by the support of his family and friends. True to his word, Jack had gotten a Skype call between Mark and his family set up the day after he regained clarity. It was just the first of many, though Mark primarily kept in video contact with Tom.

Mark knew Jack was doing his best to balance his personal life, work life, and the hospital life he had to partake in because of Mark. Whereas Mark could just focus on healing and keeping up communication with his loved ones, Jack always had a laundry list to go home to. Whether it was taking care of the house, any lingering paparazzi issues or keeping up with his channel, Mark knew Jack was working extra hard. He could see it in the exhaustion clinging to his frame every day when he came to visit. He also knew a majority of that exhaustion stemmed from himself or factors having to do with him.

He was still finding it hard to believe Jack had gone to such lengths for him. Making Jack move was bad enough, but to specifically seek out a house instead of a flat, and to make it fit specifications that would help Mark feel more comfortable? Guilty wasn’t strong enough a word to describe Mark’s feelings; indebted was closer. Jack constantly reassured him it was fine, he _wanted_ to do it, the locale was his personal preference. Mark might play it up for laughs sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid.

Unfortunately, one way or another Mark _was_ stuck in Ireland. Dr. Agon had forbidden air travel until his lungs were fully recovered, a process that could take many _months_ , and he highly discouraged trans-Atlantic ship rides as well. Too much of a risk for Mark’s weakened immune system to pick up something even more nasty. Which meant no way out, and the only person he knew in the whole country was a certain green-haired YouTuber. It was Jack or a hotel. In Mark's case, there was no second option.

They'd run out of time to seek out any alternatives. Today was Mark’s discharge day. He was finally considered healthy enough to be released so long as he was under supervision by someone else. Jack had to be that someone.

Mark knew Jack was waiting outside the hospital for him with his sister, but his eyes didn’t immediately seek them out. He drew as deep of a breath as he could manage while the nurse rolled him out through the hospital doors. Finally, fresh air instead of sanitized floors or bloody walls. It was one of the few aspects about being outside he actually craved. If he closed his eyes and did his best to tune out the background noise, it was perfect. Just weak sunlight warming his pale skin, a light breeze rustling through his bangs and solid ground beneath his feet. Mark had dropped them from the wheelchair’s footholds before they even came to a complete stop but it seemed the nurse couldn’t bring herself to scold him for it. All of the staff that attended to him for the past two months knew his story and what he had gone through. Once the initial dangers of his anxiety had passed, he managed to grow on all of them. Beneath the fractured, scattered pieces was still Mark Fischbach: expert heartstrings tugger extraordinaire.

However, he couldn’t keep his eyes closed forever. They had been preparing for this day for a week or two now; taking short trips outside to the courtyard, rolling Mark around the corridors to get him used to excessive noise. The first time Jack sat outside in the middle of… _nothing,_ with him, Mark had a breakdown. It was bad at first, because Mark was just so overwhelmed, but it ended on a more cathartic note than the others. Jack had been there to work him through it. He held Mark and talked until it was a wonder the man’s voice even worked anymore and when Mark came out of it, and found himself less terrified of his kidnappers jumping out from any shadowy corner, he could appreciate it. Things he’d been missing and once loved. Sunshine, trees and flowers, birds… there was even a squirrel living in the courtyard, and Jack _still_ liked to bring up Mark’s reaction sometimes just to tease him. In the end, it had been a good day.

Yet now was the big step: leaving the hospital he had finally grown accustomed to and traveling across town to their new home; a new space. Mark hadn’t even been in a vehicle since the ambulance- which he scarcely remembered at all due to being unconscious. Now, as he opened his eyes to the cloudy Irish morning, he found himself sitting in front of not one but _two_ McLoughlins. Mark had never met Jack’s family, but he almost wanted to laugh at how much the siblings looked alike. They weren’t identical by any means, but they shared the same blue eyes. They also projected a similar vibe: cheery, sweet and vibrant. The biggest difference was the lack of KitKat brows. Jack's sister probably appreciated that.

New people always served to rile up his anxiety but he swallowed hard and tried to keep taking deep breaths. They had to be measured, because if they were too large it could make his lungs hiccup in their rhythm and trigger a coughing fit. Subconsciously, he tugged at the edges of his sleeves and the hood covering most of his head. A majority of his bandages had been removed as he healed; even the splints and cast were gone. Besides scarring, the only indication of Mark’s abuse was the fact his arm was in a simple sling. All the recently healed bones were weak so Dr. Agon had advised him to treat them tenderly for another week or so. The lack of medical trappings didn’t stop him from feeling self-conscious out in the open air, in front of a stranger. Clean hair and new clothes did nothing to make him look more natural; more like his usual self, less like a skeleton. (His brain was exaggerating, he _knew_ it was exaggerating, but it still hurt.)

Then Jack came over; getting close to him, acting like a buffer for the rest of the world. Jack made it a point _not_ to touch Mark and he was so, so grateful to him for the constant foresight. “Hey there. You ready for this?”

Releasing the shaky breath he had been holding, Mark let his elbow nudge at Jack’s hand. “...yeah. Yeah, I can do this.” Bending his good arm, Mark pressed a palm to the arm of the chair and pushed. His limbs trembled as he settled his weight on them and he felt the brush of Jack’s fingers at his elbow; supportive. For a moment, he feared his knees might buckle, but he ground the heels of his converse into the cement and pushed through the initial weakness to stand. He felt a small burst of pride in his chest and exhaled out something that could be considered the ghost of a giddy laugh. Taking a moment to glance back at a grinning Jack, as if silently cheering _“look what I can do!”,_ he quietly thanked the nurse and shuffled forward.

It felt good to be in normal clothes, even if they weren’t his usual get-up. Technically, they weren’t even _his._ They belonged to Jack. Mark had attempted to wear one of his own outfits but it was just too big. Even Jack’s clothing hung off his body in baggy folds. The sweatpants were strung tight and the shirt was loose beneath a big hoodie. It did little to reassure Mark about his body image but it was no hospital gown. He could deal.

Mark’s eyes were primarily downcast, staring at his shoes, but he did manage to glance up at Jack’s sister a few times. He didn’t fail to notice her stunned expression, though, so he stopped looking. She was _staring._ Well, at least Mark had prepared himself for it. Not just from Jack’s sister, but basically anyone who happened to see them on their way to the new house. Thankfully, a majority of the trip would be spent behind the window of a car, but after being surrounded by people that were _used_ to his appearance in dozens upon dozens of other patients, Mark was very unaccustomed to being openly stared at. The emotions on her face were primarily shock, but there were glimpses of pity and horror mixed in there as well and he winced. It was definitely better to watch the ground.

“Hi… Ms. Jack’s sister…?” Jack had told Mark her name. He _had,_ but Mark for the life of him couldn’t remember what it was. There were too many things happening around him; too much new information to absorb and process. Jack’s sister was the first non-medical personnel he’d come face-to-face with (besides Jack) since being dumped by the Ship Sinker.

“Uh… Jack’s m-mentioned you a few times, but… it really can’t compare to meeting you in person.” Mark drew another calming breath. The greeting had all sort of come out in a rush, but he would be damned if he let this woman do so much for them and not even say hello. He had the itch to offer a hand, but shoved the appendage into his hoodie pocket- _Jack’s_ hoodie pocket- instead. His dark hair, almost completely rid of the faded dye, curled haphazardly into his face from being too overgrown. At least in his current state, no one would recognize him. He didn’t have to be quite as careful as Jack.

Jack’s sister stepped closer with a smile, and he startled some. He stepped back before he could stop himself; before he could showcase almost immediately just how fucked up he was.

“It’s Mark, isn’t it? It’s so good to finally meet you! We’ve all heard so much about his YouTube friends…” She was offering him a handshake instead- _was_ being the key word. She snatched her hand back before he could even consider taking it. Maybe she knew about the touching.

Still, he ducked his head to hide his shamed grimace. He couldn’t have brought himself to shake her hand anyway. No way. It killed him to be so utterly rude.

Way to not make this awkward.

Then Jack’s back was filling his vision and he looked up to find the Irishman there once more, raising up a wall of pseudo-protection. “And she is the most socially-apt member of my family,” Jack sighed. “The car’s this way, Mark, just at the curb there. Did you want to say good-bye, or…?” He extended one arm toward his sister’s VW, his other hand raised toward Mark if Mark wanted to take it. Jack wasn’t holding it out awkwardly, though, just letting Mark decide if he wanted to accept the touch or leave it. There was a lot of _new_ here, after all: new clothes, new people, new environment.

Mark felt all at once touched and embarrassed. Jack was defending him from his own damn _sister._ There was something so, so wrong about this. Mark didn’t want to come between anyone, or cause tensions. He prayed Jack’s sister was as understanding as she looked. “Jack….”

The admonishment died on his tongue, because he really had no right to scold Jack for anything. She was _Jack’s_ sister. He could handle the situation himself, without Mark meddling. He worried at his bottom lip as he looked over to the car. A perfectly friendly, safe, almost _cute_ Volkswagen. Surely he could ride in that. Sucking in a breath, he looked back at the hospital and promptly released it. “...I’ve already said my good-byes. At my last appointment with Dr. Agon, and then around to the nurses in my ward on the way out….” Mark _breathed,_ gave a little nod, and managed an upwards twitch of his lips as he turned back to Jack. “I’m ready. Really. Let’s go….” He eyed the proffered hand warily for a few moments, before hesitantly slipping his own free of the hoodie to make contact. Holding hands was still a process for Mark, especially when he wasn’t comfortable. He brushed their fingers together- tracing the length of Jack’s, glancing over the bumps of knuckles- and then the palms. He just pressed the calloused planes of lined skin against each other, breathing, before finally curling his digits around Jack’s. He gave a light squeeze.

Jack was patient, waiting for Mark to take his hand fully before he squeezed back, gentle, reassuring. He held Mark’s hand as he coaxed his friend the few feet to his sister’s car and opened the back door.

As if responding to an unspoken cue, Jack’s sister went around to climb in the front seat behind the wheel. She started the car, glancing back at them in the mirror.

After a glance at Mark, Jack climbed into the backseat first and released Mark’s hand to scoot over behind his sister, leaving the seat furthest away from her available. He beckoned for Mark to join him; waiting. He seemed on-edge. Mark almost wanted to laugh at the idea of Jack being more anxious than he was.

Mark glanced back at the hospital one more time, and tried not to panic. Luckily, no matter how much his brain wracked his memories for some use of a car in his three months of torment, there were none to be found. Besides the tight space and noise, Mark had no reason to fear the machine. Still, it was easier to slip into the backseat after Jack had gotten in first. Just… to prove it was safe, yeah.

He shifted, squirmed a bit and wiggled in an effort to adjust himself. The seat was comfortable and the car smelled nice; something like a mix of leather and pine. It was soothing. Reaching out, he pulled the door closed as gently and softly as he possibly could. Mark sighed at the click, relieved to avoid a loud bang, and belatedly took note of the classical music now filling the car. It was odd. He never would have penned Jack’s sister to be into that genre but to each his or her or their own, he supposed. Picking at the material on the back of the front passenger seat, he lightly tapped his feet against the floor as he mumbled. “...could… could you, uh… just… turn it down a little bit, please?” It was nice music. Really, it was, but in the confined space it was near deafening compared even to the buzz of the hospital ward.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Jack’s sister spun the volume knob down, and she seemed to be avoiding Jack’s gaze in the mirror. Mark felt another subtle twinge of guilt. “Better?”

“Thanks,” Jack said, buckling his seat belt and reaching over to set his hand near Mark’s leg.

Mark nodded a little from where he sat hunched over in his seat. “Thanks….” His elbow rested on his knee while his arm hung down between his legs. It was an awkward position with one arm in a sling, but better than sitting up and having too much to take in all at once. Mark could sense Jack’s hand lingering near his leg, but respectfully not touching. It was a good move, since he probably would have flinched and set off some kind of horrible chain reaction with his emotions.

“Mark, you’re gonna have to buckle up. It’s the law here.” Instead, he was faced with the issue of the seat belt.

A seat belt was a restraint. The seats were padded. The car was small. Jack’s house was too far away to walk, and Mark was in no shape to bike. They needed to ride. There were so many possible triggers and risks to this one car ride.

Yet it was _just_ a seat belt. All it had to do was go over his body to keep him _safe._ He _always_ practiced proper seat belt safety in the past. His kidnappers had never even _used_ belts as a restraining device. There were dozens of reasons buckling in _should not be an issue._ God, if he didn’t want to do it though. “...right. Yeah… yeah, I’m… okay.” Just do it. Just do it, and get it over with, and then hopefully he wouldn’t need to get into another car for a long time. The movement to get the buckle in place was jerky and awkward but eventually there was a little “click” and he could settle back into the seat. For several moments, the belt was all too real against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. He could feel every last inch where it gripped through the shirt and hoodie. It was almost like a vice.

Jack’s voice was in his ear, and he was cracking some joke about his sister’s driving. She snarked right back at him and Mark released a breath. He was fine. Everything was okay. No one there wanted to hurt him, or restrain him. He could still move his limbs so he wasn’t trapped- yet. Squirming awkwardly for a second, Mark reached over to lower the window about halfway. The fresh gust of air immediately cleansed his senses and gave clarity to his thoughts. He sighed. “At least she _is_ driving us. Jack, your little brother is showing.” Talking was good. Talking was _distracting._ He gave a slight nod. “Thanks… again, girl Jack. Jackie. I’m good.” _‘About as ready as I’ll ever be.’_ His gaze remained resolutely on his shoes.

“Onward!” Jack gave the back of his sister’s seat a smack, and she rolled her eyes.

“Aye aye, m’liege.”

Contrary to Jack’s claims, his sister actually was a good driver, and she was hyper aware of her fragile passenger. As she smoothly pulled into traffic, Jack settled back into his seat, still watching Mark, still keeping his hand close if Mark needed it. “I’ve told you, it’s different over here. You don’t _need_ a license like you do in America. We don’t sprawl out. Hell, you’d be fine with just a bike, but the buses aren’t half bad, really, and the trains’ll get you anywhere else you want to go. It’s called being environmentally friendly, Mr. Owns-A-Prius.”

“Ffft… that’s ‘cause you don’t have much to sprawl out _to._ No offense, your country’s probably awesome, but it’s barely the size of our smaller states…. And what’s wrong with owning a Prius?? They’re cute. _And_ good for the environment. Two-for-one.” Mark had forgotten he owned a Prius, or what it was like to drive it. When he went home, he would need to pick it up again. Hopefully by then, he could get into a car without the risk of an anxiety attack. It was still bubbling dangerously beneath the surface, making its presence known to Mark for every mile- er, kilometer- they drove. He could make sparing glances out the window but if his gaze lingered for too long he would start to feel sick. Instead, he primarily took a peek whenever Jack would point something out; smiling to himself at the fact it was mostly buses. He was so going to make a Tweet about Jack’s affinity for public transportation later.

Jack kept up a stream of chatter about the topic, ignoring his sister in favor of watching Mark but even with the cheesy subjects, and Jack’s incessant, almost nonsensical rambling, Mark wouldn’t want it any other way. The constant babble had become a familiar, comforting background noise for Mark. It didn’t matter if he was already at peace or on the verge of a breakdown. Listening to Jack talk about anything and everything _always_ served to soothe the edge on his nerves and right now, with so many stimuli pressing at his newly acquired fears, he needed that persistent white noise more than ever.

When Jack ran out of things to say about buses (and pointed them out to Mark whenever they were near one), he switched over to the house. He’d told Mark about it several times before, but now Mark was actually going to see it. He might as well get an idea of it before they reached their destination. As Jack ranted, he tried to picture the description in his mind. “It’s still really weird that I have a _garden._ I’ve never taken care of a garden before. I have no idea how to tell what’s supposed to be there and what’s a fucking weed. I guess I’ll have to learn. Or just let it run wild and say fuck it, it’s bohemian chic. That’s a thing, right? Do you know how to garden? I mean...do I need to get a lawnmower thing? Fuck. I need a lawnmower thing. Do you know how to mow a lawn, Mark? We never bothered. We had goats. Practically the same thing. I guess I could just get a goat, and that would take care of the weeds too…”

“Jack. I don’t care if we’re in the Irish countryside, we are not getting a goat. I’ll write you a manual on how to mow a lawn if I have to. I was never super into gardening or anything but my mom had one. I know the basics…. We could start one, if you wanted. I think I read somewhere that gardening can be therapeutic…. But ‘Bohemian chic’? Really, Jack?” Mark contemplated starting a garden. It might be nice, actually. He wasn’t lying about the therapeutic thing and seeing Jack sputter about all the dirt and “how the fuck do _seeds_ even work” would be hilarious, but they definitely weren’t getting a goat.

“I don’t fucking know different types of gardens!” Jack protested, throwing his far hand up. “I moved into the city as soon as I could! Do I look like a gardener to you? And not a _word_ about the hair.” Jack pointed accusingly at Mark, then at his sister, who merely giggled from the front seat. “Just because I look like a hedge doesn’t mean I know the first thing about growing one! I play video games! _You_ play video games! But...if you wanted to start a garden...be my guest. I mean, it’s gonna be your garden too, at least for a while. Might as well make it something you like, right?”

Mark was _almost_ snickering at Jack’s miniature blow-up. Were he his old self, he probably would have been laughing up a storm. Still, he _was_ amused, and thoroughly distracted from how the seat belt pressed against his chest or the walls of the small car kept him surrounded. “Yeah, I play video games, but I do other stuff too. Granted, it was never really _gardening,_ but still…. Where’s your sense of adventure, Jackarooni? It can be like our playthrough of The Forest. But with less headhunters and more foliage. You used to _live_ on a farm, how are you not at least a _little_ interested in gardening…?” He was mostly teasing, of course. Jack could do whatever he liked. Especially after buying a _whole_ ** _house._** It would just be nice, if they could do it together. Mark didn’t say that, though.

“I used to _live_ on a farm, Markiplur. Do you have any idea how much farming takes away from video gaming? I _dreaded_ Mum telling me to go water the potatoes _don’t say it._ ”

Oh, there was so much joke potential there, but Jack’s glower was a force to be reckoned with. “And don’t ever tell Felix I know how to grow potatoes, okay? He will _never_ let me live that down. Goddamn stereotypes.”

Luckily for Jack, Mark was feeling _very_ generous after all the effort Jack was going to just for him. So he spared the little Irishman- for now. He never promised _anything._ Silently, he made a note to _definitely_ plant potatoes in their new garden. The look on Jack’s face when he found the spuds would be priceless; certainly better than the anxious nerves he was sporting now. It was odd, seeing the man whom had been taking care of him in such a state. Usually, Mark was the one fidgeting and spitting out confusing, convoluted excuses. He didn’t really get it.

The roads were getting smaller and emptier as they headed out of town, turning onto the quiet country road Jack lived on now. He shifted nervously in his seat, glancing out the window, then back to Mark. “We’re almost there. It’s...it’s up ahead, on the right. It’s the red brick one at the top of the hill, see?”

Now they were out of the city, it was easier for Mark to observe the scenery. Just blurs of green and brown with the occasional cow or sheep or farm house. It was quieter too. He rolled down the window so he could lean his face out a bit. The wind that immediately slapped against his face, whipped through his hair, tossed his hood back- it reinvigorated him; made him feel _alive._ It reminded him of home- not L.A., but Ohio, sort of. There wasn’t enough corn, if he was to be honest, but Mark listened to Jack's directions and squinted forward up the rising hill. As they drew closer, the dark red cabin came more and more into focus. His brown eyes widened a bit.

“I mean, it’s not really anything amazing yet, I haven’t really had much time to pull it together or anything, but your room is ready, or at least as ready as I can make it. Obviously, you can personalize it however you want, cause it’s your room. I mean. Duh. Yeah.”

“Jack….” It wasn’t enormous, but it was still a _house._ A whole, entire _house._ It looked a bit old, but modernized; fixed up from its original construction to better meet the tastes of current buyers. Jack wouldn’t get them an out-of-date home. Nonetheless, the age it did show gave it a sort of quaint, rustic charm. He could picture the garden hiding behind the fence even better now, and in the distance he could hear the rushing water of a river. The fingers of his free hand tightened on the bottom of the open window.

Jack’s sister glanced back at her brother in the mirror, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. Mark wasn’t a sibling, so he couldn’t tune into their silent conversation, but he knew one was occurring. Tom and himself had them all the time.

“Here we are!” his sister chirped, pulling into the gravel drive.

When they came to a stop, and he heard Jack unbuckling his seat belt, Mark finally turned to look at his best friend. Mark wasn’t grinning or smiling, but he wasn’t looking disappointed or put-off either. Really, he just looked… content; relieved. Mark smiled at Jack with his eyes alone and unlocked his seat belt. “It looks amazing. I can’t wait to see the inside.” _It’s perfect,_ went unsaid too.

Now they were at the house, Jack shifted anxiously, looking at the little cottage with ivy clinging to the old bricks. “I mean, it’s nothing incredible, it’s certainly not as big as _yours_ or anything like that… It’s pretty cramped inside too, cause old houses weren’t designed to be huge…”

“I’m glad it’s not as big as my house. I think it’d be too much…. This seems nice. A good size for two people. It can’t be _that_ small on the inside….” Again, Jack wouldn’t be so careless. He knew by now that Mark needed space, but not _too much_ space. It was a delicate balance they’d both had months to sort out.

Jack opened the car door on his side and climbed out. His sister looked up at him, but he shook his head. He moved around to the other side quickly, opening the door for Mark and offering him a hand. “Okay...let’s...I can show you around?”

Still befuddled and a little bemused, Mark watched Jack hurry around just for his sake. He didn’t really feel like he needed it, because he was surprisingly calm, but it sure looked like Jack did. Mark slipped his hand into Jack’s with the usual amount of caution and stumbled awkwardly out of the small car. His legs were being stubborn after sitting for so long and he stomped them a bit to wake the appendages back up again.

Breathing in the crisp, clean air that always came along with the country in any place, Mark’s tranquil expression didn’t waver. He watched some sparrows hop about in a nearby tree, then looked up at the cozy cabin he’d be making himself well-acquainted with. The nearby river was still rushing in his ears and he sighed. “Yeah. Please. I wanna see it….” Their new house, their new **home.** An eager curiosity filtered into his veins and Mark took a step or two forward, tugging a bit at Jack’s hand. He was still missing a grin, but was undoubtedly enchanted.

“Okay, so...front garden.” Jack gestured around at the sparse lawn surrounding the drive. “Nothing too special here. And then around there’s the gate to the back garden-”

“Jack, this is a yard, not a garden.” Mark knew it would probably just irritate Jack, which was precisely the reason he said it. Though really, he still didn’t consider it a _garden._ Gardens were in the back, or off to the side. A front yard could be prettied up but gardens were more… private things. Maybe that was a reason he wanted one.

“It’s a _garden_ , it’s got garden stuff in it, like grass...shut up you uncultured American swine.” Jack sniffed.

“You can’t call me _uncultured_ when you used a phrase like _Bohemian chic,_ Jack.”

“Oi, Jacko!” Jack’s sister leaned out her window. “I’m gonna head back into town, yeah? You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks. Still owe you one.” Jack smiled at his sister, squeezing Mark’s hand lightly. Her eyes fell to their grasp and she raised an eyebrow, but he glared and she just smiled.

“Take care, boys!” With a wave, she backed out of the drive.

Looking over to the car, Mark found it in him to offer her a wave good-bye; only to realize Jack was holding his usable hand. Awkwardly, he tried to do the same with his sling, but probably just ended up looking really silly alongside Jack’s wave. Oh well. They had a _house_ to explore. Mark didn’t care if he gave off the impression of a puppy being introduced to his new home. For once, he was _excited_ about something non-problematic, and he was going to _revel in it_ , god damn it. Especially if it reassured Jack he was happy with the choice.

Jack looked back at Mark. “So...back garden? The trees are in the back garden, and there’s a _shed_ to put the goat in, and a view of the River Shannon. It’s pretty close here, actually. It’s the biggest river in Ireland. I’ll show you the back garden, so you can start thinking about what you’re gonna do to therapize it,” Jack decided, leading the way through the gate.

“Jack, we’re _not_ getting a goat. But a river’s nice…. We used to live near a big one, you know. Back before I left Ohio. It actually went around the whole state. Made up our border. Does this one go all the way through Ireland?” Mark squeezed at Jack’s hand a bit as he was led across the lawn. His head couldn’t seem to keep still; it kept finding something new or beautiful to focus on. It was _so_ much better than the hospital. Heaven compared to that fucking room. He could already tell he was really going to love it there, goat or no goat (they weren’t getting a goat).

Jack stopped Mark in the back garden, beneath one of the ancient willow trees. There was a beautiful view of the river from here, flowing along at the foot of the garden. He watched Mark marveling at the sight, nodding at his question. “It’s not quite all the way through, but pretty much, yeah. She starts really far north of here, and keeps going all they way down south to the sea.”

The view nearly took Mark’s breath away. Sunrises and sunsets would be _amazing_ to watch behind the house and the water practically dazzled from even the weak amounts of sunlight bouncing off its burbling surface. With the encroaching willow trees and curling ivy, it was was like something out of a dream or a fairy tale book. Ireland truly was magical... or maybe he was just over-sensitive to nature after being stuck in a dark room, and then a hospital for basically half a year.

“And there’s also...I had a security system put in.” Jack nodded at a sign stuck in the window. “It’s supposed to be the best you can get for a residential building, so...yeah. I mean, we’ve got neighbors and shit, and it’s not like we’re completely out in the middle of nowhere, but it can’t hurt to be a bit safer.”

Mark’s shoulders relaxed. Sure, PAX had given them security and technically hotel rooms were supposed to have security measures as well, but there was something so much more reassuring about _Jack_ hand-picking the one used on their home. He trusted Jack. If his best friend thought this setup was good enough, then Mark would too. (He’d tell himself that, later when he double and triple checked the locks on every door and window.) After a few minutes of that, Jack started to lead Mark back to the house. “Looks like you thought of everything…. But just one important question.” Mark settled Jack with a serious look, and then stated in perfect deadpan. “...what’s the wi-fi password.”

Jack looked over to meet Mark’s gaze, grinned, and then faltered. “Er...shit. It’s _my_ password, my main one, um...I’ll need to change that. Not that I don’t trust you. Just. Um. Yeah, I haven’t actually changed it in _forever_. What about...goatsbeatlawnmowers69herpaderp?”

Mark was admittedly a bit grudging as they returned to the house. If he wasn’t terrified of the possible consequences, he might have contemplated sneaking out back later to lay beneath the stars and watch the river. Sorting out how best to organize the new garden in his head, he hummed at Jack’s sheepish response to what was mostly a joke. “It’s cool. I wouldn’t tell you any of my passwords either. It’s a matter of national security.” There was a distinct pause. “Jack, we’re not getting a goat, even if it could out-mow a machine. And we’re not making that our password. Well, maybe we can keep the sixty-nine part.”

Jack pulled out his keys, opening the back door and holding it for Mark. “So, continuing our tour, here’s the kitchen. It’s got basic kitcheny stuff. And then we go into the dining room, and the sitting room, and that’s a closet, and so is that, and that goes to the attic which is scary and probably haunted at least by bats, and then that’s my room, and the recording room, and the bathroom…”

Inside, the house was about what Mark had imagined. Small, true, but not cramped. It was cozy and warm with all the exposed wood and old fashioned panache. It positively reeked of pine (and dust, but they could fix that) in the best possible way. _He loved it._ “This is awesome…. If you really think there’s bats up there, we can just leave it. I don’t feel like being thrown into a Scooby-Doo intro.” Mark wondered if Jack would get the reference as he peeked into the various rooms.

“Heh, yeah…” Jack sounded a smidgen uncomfortable, but pressed on. “...and this is your room.” Jack hesitated again, then opened the door to show him. Mark held his breath and stepped inside.

It was a small room, largely dominated by a black bed with a navy duvet, as close to Mark’s bed as Jack could find on short notice. There was a dresser tucked into a corner, and by the window overlooking the back garden and river was a desk. Jack had Mark’s things set around the room; the little trinkets and mementos Tyler had selected to send. On a small table by the bed, in a place of honor beside an alarm clock, stood a tacky taco trophy. Mark’s laptop sat on the desk with Rebecca, his diamond play button, beside it. Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Um...Tyler sent me some of your stuff, but he forgot that we have different plugs over here, so your charger isn’t really all that useful. I ordered you one that should work, but it hasn’t arrived yet. Otherwise, I would have brought your laptop to the hospital for you…”

Mark wasn’t expecting the room to have so much already. Jack had mentioned Tyler sending some of his things over, but he had never imagined it was quite so much. Shipping must have been an absolute fortune. He would need to pay him back later. Right now, he released Jack’s hand to move about the bedroom. He almost walked on tiptoe, as if the space was reverent and shouldn’t be encroached upon even by himself. It looked a _lot_ like his bedroom at home. Certain things were off, but Jack had clearly made a serious attempt to replicate the space. He felt his heart swell, and then ache as he admired what part of his brain considered to be relics from a long lost past. His awards, his mementos, his laptop, _his bed._ Mark knew it wasn’t _his_ bed exactly, that would have been silly, but it was close and after months of sleeping on a padded floor or in a stiff hospital bed, his body was _so_ ready.

Not even bothering with anything else for the moment, Mark flopped face-first into his covers with a loud “whumph”. His arm and legs were spread out far as they could go with his feet hanging just over the bottom edge. It was a little awkward to lay down on his other arm and the frames of his glasses were digging into his face, but it was _so_ worth it. He practically moaned in bliss as he sank into the softness of his new bed. “Just leave me here to die…. Let the bed have me, clearly I’m slowly descending to a much better place. Go on without me, Jack. Tell the world of my exploits….” He groaned dramatically, before kicking his feet a bit like a little kid. Best bed, best room, best house. This was the _best._ ** _Jack_** was the best.

“I, uh, don’t have too much in the way of clothes for you yet, but I pulled out some of my larger shirts and stuff for you, and Tyler sent a lot of loungewear and stuff. I figured you could just order new while you’re here, so you get stuff better suited for the Irish weather instead of California’s. Then I’ve got, like, towels and toothbrushes and all that shit in the bathroom. Color-coded to start. You’re red. I’m green. We should have everything to get through a day or two or so definitely, and then if there’s anything else you need, we can make a list and I can run to the shops. I guess...I can let you rest, if you’d like? I’ll go change the wifi password--router’s in the recording room, along with the modem, if you need to reset it ever. Mum stocked my fridge with leftovers and shit when she learned I was moving, so we don’t have to do any cooking for a week or so, so that’ll be good. Mum-cooked food is best food, no matter whose mum it is.”

Mark shuffled against his covers until he could properly turn his head, maneuvering his face so he could look at Jack. There was nothing but positive emotions in his body language and expression; eyes alight with glee, brow relaxed and mouth still trying to grin. It managed a small smile. Close enough.

“Christmas towels _and_ Mama McLoughlin leftovers? You're amazing, Jack. Honestly. I still can't believe you put all this together….”

“It only looks put together because I only bothered to put together the stuff you’ll see,” Jack said. “I’m not going to let you see my bedroom for a while yet…”

“Oh geez, it looks like hurricane season: clothes edition in there, doesn't it? Well at least point out the closets you stuffed everything haphazardly into _before_ I open them and get buried….” Mark liked to try and keep his own space relatively neat just because he had a nasty habit of misplacing things. He knew Jack probably wasn't too bad himself, he was just adjusting to the new house.

“Um...all of them?” Jack said sheepishly, with the smallest hint of a welling giggle. “I’m working on it! It’ll be easier now, without the commute to the hospital to worry about.” Jack was going to have so much _time_ back, with Mark actually in his house instead of miles away. Jack wouldn’t have to sit by Mark’s side all day. Mark could enjoy having some time to himself, away from the beeping of the machines (and that heart rate monitor that he had grown to _loathe_ with a passion).

“Geez. Okay. Closet hazard has reached critical mass. I'll help you clean up best I can with my arm in this sling. We’ll get the house whipped into shape before your _mum_ can visit with more leftovers and lose her mind at how her _precious wee bab_ has been living.” Now Jack, on the other hand, there was no real whipping him into shape. Jack would be Jack, and at the end of the day Mark wouldn't have it any other way. It was because of how Jack was that Mark had made it this far. Jack, and the eclectic aesthetic he carried, were a big part of how easily and readily Mark embraced the new house. It was just _reeking_ of Sean McLoughlin- mess and all. Soon Mark would apply his own personal touch to the rooms and garden, and then their house would become a home.

“I don't know what to say. If there's anything I can ever do for you, ever, just say so. I owe you so much….” His expression softened, then lit up with a hint of mischief. “I'll even try your _mum’s_ haggis. Just for you.” He _knew_ haggis was a Scottish thing. That's what made it funny.

Jack shook his head at him. “Mark, you already know you’ve done so much for me. Besides...we’re friends. Helping each other is what friends _do_ , without keeping track of favors owed or crap like that. And... _haggis_? Jesus, Mark, are you _ever_ going to learn the difference between Ireland and Scotland?”

Mark kind of wanted to protest Jack’s insistence on not paying him back for all of his help, but maybe it was for the best they got distracted talking about food. Reaching up to wrap an arm around his pillow, Mark squeezed it up under his cheek without removing his gaze from Jack. “Nope. Just waiting for you to paint yourself blue and give a rousing battle speech. You guys both got sheep, accents, and don't like England or something, right? Where's the difference?” It was all good-natured teasing.

“Just for that, I’m going to pick the most traditional Irish food she left me with for dinner tonight…” He glowered at Mark, folding his arms. “ _Lamb stew._ ”

When Jack attempted to threaten him with his mother’s cooking, Mark gasped dramatically.

“ _Lamb stew?!_ Not lamb stew! Oh, how ever will I cope? Please, Jack, show mercy! Forgive this poor, ignorant American!” Mark's efforts were a little tired and missing his usual enthusiasm, but they still existed and the soft rumble in his stomach only pushed him on. “...and maybe make him a sandwich? Or something? I mean, if it's more lamb, I could probably muscle through the horror….” He snuggled his face deeper into his pillow and batted his eyelashes at Jack.

“There really isn’t all that much weird Irish food, you silly American. And we have all the standards too, like Dominos and Chinese. We’re a bit lacking on the Mexican food, so no Chipotles or Taco Bell, sorry. But we do have KFC.” Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark, shaking his head. “I’ll make you a sandwich. This time. And I’ll change the password. Be back in a bit.”

“Thanks. Next time, _I’ll_ make us _both_ tacos. Kill two birds with one stone, or whatever.” Mark hummed contently and wiggled his fingers after Jack in a lazy sort of wave.

It was the first time Jack left him in bed, and Mark _knew_ he was still nearby. Just in the other room, fixing him a damn _sandwich_ of all things. There was a housewife joke in there somewhere, but he was better than that. For once, he didn’t close his eyes in a hospital room. For once, there was peace and quiet beyond the faint sounds of Jack clattering away in the kitchen and birds calling to each other outside the window. _For once,_ he could lay down and stretch out with no wires or tubes or _anything_ trailing from his body like he was some kind of machine. It was fantastic.

At some point, he must have dozed off. His body _was_ still recovering, and many of the nights spent in the hospital went partially or fully sleepless due to nightmares. It was really no wonder he ended up falling asleep for a bit. Unfortunately, it was much easier for the mind to play tricks with the subconscious when it was, well, **unconscious.**

It was quiet. _Too_ quiet. Where were all the hospital noises? He didn’t even hear the beeping of his monitor. That damn thing was _always_ beeping; always present, but now there was nothing. Mark shifted his limbs against whatever he was laying on and found it to be soft. The comforter was well-padded and in his half-asleep state, his nerves recalled something else. **The Room.** With its cushioned floors and walls that muted outside sounds; stopped all light from coming in beyond one single bulb far above his head. Its switch was outside the room. He had no control over it, his captors could decide to leave him in blackness for days and there was _nothing_ he could do about it. The dimness was welcomed. The darkness wasn’t.

Beginning to panic, Mark flailed a bit against his covers and lifted his face from the pillow with a soft gasp. The cover was a little damp from his drooling- or was it from the last time they dumped water on him? Maybe it was blood. Had they drawn his blood recently? He couldn’t remember. His brain was still trying to wake up and now, with his eyes open, everything was too bright. Mark’s glasses had fallen from his face in his haste to push himself up but the blurriness was all too familiar. The muted color of the walls, a single light in the ceiling- but there were things in the room; masses of shape and color he couldn’t define but they only served to unnerve him even more. The room was familiar, it was consistent. This, this was wrong. It was _all wrong._ He didn’t know where he was. He had no idea where he was, or where _they-_

**_Them._ **

Oh god, if _he_ didn’t know where _he_ was, then how could he possibly prepare himself for _them??_ They could be anywhere. They were probably watching him, and laughing at how he was flailing about to scramble for some kind of cover. At least a corner. The space around him was too open and left him completely exposed,  _a_ _nd it was still too_ ** _fucking bright._** He ended up falling right off the bed with a startled yelp, followed by a restrained whimper as his entire right side throbbed in pain. Well, they had _definitely_ heard that. Now he was **really** fucked. (Not literally, not literally, please oh please don’t let him _actually_ be fucked today he didn’t think he could survive it-) Desperate and lost, he crawled awkwardly- due to one arm being caught up in the sling- towards the nearest wall.

Upon reaching it, Mark belatedly realized it was a door. It was ajar, and the space inside was dark- or at least not as bright as the room he currently occupied. He practically threw himself into the narrow space and dragged the door shut with a firm click behind him. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the shadows; the only light peeked through the bottom of the door. It appeared to be a closet, and was of a decent size so he wasn’t cramped, but the four walls surrounding him felt far safer than whatever he had been laying on. He was secure, and hidden, and without all the outside stimuli he could try to rein in his thoughts. They were a jumbled mess from his panicking and didn’t make much sense.

 _None of this_ made sense. Mark dragged the fingers of his free hand through his too long hair and curled up into a ball at one end of the closet. Tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes but had yet to fall. He was dangerously close to hyperventilating and something told him he needed to breathe; some nagging, Irish-accented voice at the back of his head. _'_ _Breathe. Breathe. It’s safe._ ** _You’re safe._** _(In here.)'_ His brain was all too happy to tack on the detail and an anxious whine rose up in his throat where the dog collar still rested. Remembering its existence, he immediately unzipped his- was it his?- hoodie enough to grasp at the dog tag beneath. _'_ _Breathe, Mark. In and out.'_ He had done harder things in his life. When had measured breaths become so difficult? Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his good arm around them and buried his face into the soft material of his sweatpants. That was where and how he stayed; shuddering and sobbing softly in the gloom of his own closet.

“Mark?”

There was a pause, the light padding of feet and the clatter of ceramic on wood.

“ _Mark!?_ ”

The footsteps were faint red flags at the corner of his mind; a threat, but nothing immediately dangerous. It was the voice shouting his name that startled him and finally made him react by curling up even tighter in his little corner. His kidnappers never used his actual name, but maybe they were trying a different tactic. Maybe they wanted to fool him; make him think he really _was_ safe.

The voice kept shouting his name, over and over, asking where he was. Clearly trying to draw him out. Definitely _not_ safe. Mark choked on another sob and did his best to hold his breath; remain completely still beyond the endless trembling so as not to give away his position. Gradually, confusion shifted to fear with an extra helping of some more panic. If he wasn’t terrified about being found, he might have made a funny reference to some survival horror genre video game like Silent Hill.

Except he wasn’t James Sunderland, he didn’t have a gun, and the person antagonizing him was more than just a figment of his imagination. Mark squeezed the heel of his palm against his head and buried his face into his knees until he could scarcely breathe anymore. _'_ _No, no, no, go away, go_ ** _away,_** _please don’t look here, please don’t hear me breathing and look here and hurt me and-'_

Another shout; louder than the rest, and startlingly close. Mark managed to swallow his scream but jerked violently where he sat. His elbow rammed into the wall and he sunk teeth into his lip so he wouldn’t cry out from the pain. Sinking the throbbing appendage down next to his side, Mark pressed himself as close to the walls as he could. Had his pursuer heard that? Was he going to investigate? Mark could try to fight back; utilize the element of surprise, but he just shrunk further into the closet. He didn’t have the mental strength anymore to risk a more severe punishment.

The door opened, and light poured into his safe space. Mark _immediately_ felt exposed again. He flinched, drawing back into himself and the walls and not daring to look at the doorway. Images of his kidnappers flared searing and hot through his mind; standing over him, grinning, laughing, _smiling._ He had no need to see them again. They hadn’t grabbed him yet, or kicked him, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. Sometimes, they drew it out on purpose; his fear. Watching as he shied away from them and then lashing out just when he thought he was in the clear.

They said his name again. Then there were more words- they sounded funny;  _o_ _ff._ Like they were spoken with an accent. An accent… Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest. Anxiously, he inched his head a bit to the side, just enough to get a peek. The man was a blur, but he was on the same level. Mark was being offered something. What had the voice said? Glass? Oh. His glasses. His _glasses…_

The men didn’t have his glasses. He knew, because they never used them to toy with him; never took them from his nightstand when he was whisked away in the night, but this man- _he_ had his glasses. Who had his glasses?? The memory came to him- _‘here, I’ve got your glasses, Tyler night-flighted them over for you’-_ and he stared. His next sob died in his throat. “...J-Jack…?” Mark’s voice was a shadow of what it had been earlier. Quiet, broken and trembling as he cradled his weak arm to his chest and dug fingernails into the carpet with the other.

“Yeah. Yeah Mark. It’s me. It’s Jack. You’re out of that room, remember? You were in hospital for a while, but you were discharged today, and you’re at my house now. Remember, Mark? That’s what’s real. Me. This place. Your glasses.” Jack stretched the glasses a little closer to Mark, just shy of prodding him with the frames. “Why don’t you take them, Mark, take them and put them on, so you can see what’s real. You can…” Jack glanced around, “you can stay in the closet if you’d like, but I’d really like it if you could put your glasses back on, okay, Mark?”

“...your house… our house… my….” His glasses. Numbly, Mark finally reached for the accessory. His head had lifted a bit more from his knees but otherwise he had not budged from his defensive position. Jack’s reassurances were still mulling over in his addled brain; fact-checking and doubting and coming up with any excuse as to ulterior motives or false promises, but it was Jack. It _was_ Jack, and Jack wouldn’t lie to him, Jack wouldn’t _hurt_ him. He just wanted to give him his glasses. He kept saying it; repeating himself and the word until it almost became nonsensical to Mark’s ears. _Glasses. His glasses. Put on his glasses. He had to put them on, he had to, just that one thing._

“You can stay where you are. I’ll even close the door again, if that will help. But please put your glasses on?”

Jack was basically begging him and with that accent, it was impossible for Mark to even pretend he was anyone else. The man kneeling before him was Jack, through and through, and he _really_ wanted Mark to wear his glasses. Gingerly, he accepted the frames hovering so closely to his body and made sure not to touch the peach blur holding the opposite end. They were light in his grasp, yet heavy when he awkwardly slipped them onto his face. They slid on his skin where it was wet with tears. Blinking once, twice, everything came into clarity.

Including Jack’s face. Mark felt his shoulders slump. “Jack….” It _was_ Jack. It really was. His ears weren’t deceiving him. Mark sniffled, and at last uncurled some from his little ball of protection. Fingers twitching near his knee, he gradually reached out again. This time towards Jack’s face; towards blue eyes and stubble that was becoming a little unruly. Sunlight from the bedroom was reflecting off the shock of green atop Jack’s head and bathing him in a sort of glow that made Mark’s breath stutter in his weak lungs. He exhaled silently. “Jack.”

“There we go, there you are,” Jack breathed as Mark looked at him, some of the tension leaving him.

Trembling fingertips touched at Jack’s cheek. They brushed, very briefly, at the rough skin there; just enough to feel how solid Jack was. Jack didn’t move an inch while Mark explored, smiling slightly. Mark breathed- and then retracted his hand back to safe limits. He curled it up against his chest with the other and kept his knees bent as he watched Jack. No more tears fell, but his breathing was still uneven and he looked like a rubber band stretched too thin. Ready to snap back at any given second; at the slightest touch. His jaw quivered. “...don’t go.”

“It’s okay, Mark, I’m not going anywhere. I was just in the kitchen, making you a sandwich. I’m sorry I took so long. Would you like to come out?” Jack asked.

Mark immediately shook his head at Jack’s offer. No, he _definitely_ didn’t want to come out of the closet and unfortunately, the potential joke was lost on him in his current state. He may have calmed down, but he was scared and it was still too open and bright out there for him. Mark needed to settle more and drift fully back to the present- time, location and company. He had the last one down, and was beginning to grasp the second. The first was more difficult.

“Or would you like me to come in?”

For the second offer, Mark had to think. He didn’t want Jack getting too close. He was still too sensitive to basically every stimuli imaginable, but he also didn’t want to be left alone because he knew for a fact he would sink back to that dark room. The part of Mark that had been touch starved- _affection_ starved- for months on end was rearing its ugly head again. He wanted to cling to Jack, to burrow against him like he had several times before- but he couldn’t. Not without freaking out again. He loathed how his mind and body always seemed to want two different things. “...can… can you just… sit with me? For a little while…?” he finally asked, quietly. Mark was still tucked into himself but he hadn’t tried ducking further away again, nor had he lashed out at Jack. So far, so good.

“Yes, of course,” Jack answered readily. Mark was already tucked tightly into the corner, so Jack eased into the closet and took a seat on the other side. He hooked his fingers under the door, pulling it mostly closed but leaving it ajar so a crack of light still illuminated the interior of the closet. He had to draw his knees up to rest his cheek on them, watching Mark quietly.

Mark watched Jack right back with the intensity of a hawk, except his gaze was anything but predatory. No, he looked more like the mouse staring down the cat slowly stalking towards it from across the grassy field, just waiting for Jack to pounce; to suddenly become a flurry of teeth and claws and pain. His heart sounded like it could belong to a mouse from how rapidly it was beating, but as Jack slid the door shut and calmly settled into his side of the small space, Mark felt it begin to slow. In the dimness, he found comfort and the clarity his glasses provided helped him keep an eye on his closetmate.

For a while, their vastly different breathing was the only sound filling up the silence. It was just the two of them in the house. There was no one else around to make any noise. Mark was too scared; didn’t know what to say. Jack was being quiet. It was a mutual silence that gradually soothed Mark’s frayed nerves. He could focus on Jack, instead of his fear and memories. Slowly, their breathing came into sync, and Mark’s muscles further relaxed. He felt stale and sticky from crying and sweating during his panic attack, but it was nothing compared to his state in the room. He could deal with this, because he still wasn’t ready to leave the closet- not just yet.

Jack started humming, and in the narrow stretch of space the sound was much louder than it normally would be. Mark startled, a little, but otherwise just stared at Jack as he made the sound. It wasn’t terrible. Just a pleasant background buzz. Like television static, but _actually_ enjoyable. Then it seemed to pick up a bit of a tune, and Mark uncoiled from himself with a deep sigh. His hand dropped to rest in his lap and his toes bumped gently against Jack’s as he stretched out. Mark leaned his upper body against the nearest wall and let his head follow suit with a soft “thud”.

Jack’s humming had shifted to lilting words under his breath; a language that was completely nonsensical to Mark but soothing. Mark had no idea what the song or melody was, but he liked it. The remaining traces of adrenaline triggered by sheer panic and flight response trickled out of his veins. He was left feeling drowsy and light as he kept his brown eyes on Jack; watching and listening to him, even as he started to wink out. Mark had barely formulated the thought, _'Well that’s weird….'_   before his vision was fading out altogether. His eyes slipped closed as he drifted off again in his exhaustion; their feet pressed together but nothing else. Breathing even, he sat half-curled up in the closet with Jack, sleeping as if it were the most normal position in the world.

  
For him, it kind of was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	47. 5/30: Wake Up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new house is fantastic, but so far it doesn't seem to be doing Mark's psyche any favors...

A new, quiet home with his own cozy room and familiar sheets didn't make things any easier for Mark’s fragile subconscious that first night. After waking up from his impromptu nap in the closet earlier, Jack had helped him re-orient himself. The sandwich had to be sacrificed to the trash as it had gotten soggy and rather unappetizing after sitting out on Mark’s bedside table all that time, but Mark assured Jack it looked delicious and that he would have eagerly eaten it had he not gone and triggered his own panic attack. Jack proceeded to reassure Mark that it was okay, that it was bound to happen eventually in the new place. Mark nodded, but didn't feel much better about already having a freak out in what was supposed to be their new safe space.

Later that night, after Jack reluctantly left Mark’s bedroom so he could tuck in, Mark took the boxes of his things from the shelves and stuffed them into the floor of the closet. Maybe it was a bad idea, but in the moment he was feeling stubborn and vindicated. He was stronger than this. He could _do_ this. With his carefully constructed- if questionable- confidence in mind, Mark had crawled into his bed in a comfortable, long-sleeved nightshirt and sweatpants. He was going to sleep in his new bed, in their new house, and he was going to _love it._

In his dreams, even the strongest confidence could quickly wane because in dreams, _anything_ could happen and for Mark, it was in his dreams that all of his irrational fears and imagined horrors came to life. He didn't really have _dreams_ anymore. Only nightmares, and tonight was no exception.

**_They_ ** _found them; somehow managed to track them down through the Irish villages and countryside to their quaint, little cabin in the woods and_ **_they_ ** _found a way past the security Jack had so meticulously chosen- because of course_ **_they_ ** _did._ **_They_ ** _had found a way into Mark’s hotel room. It was hardly a stretch_ **_they_ ** _would be able to do the same for a house._ **_They_ ** _crawled in through the windows and doors and walls; never mind the logic, in his subconscious the demons were capable of anything._ **_They_ ** _slipped across the room to his bed and touched him with_ **_their_ ** _grabby hands. **They** dug in _ **_their_ ** _fingers as **they** pushed and pulled Mark like he was putty; like he was some toy to be messed with for _ **_their_ ** _sick amusement._

**_They_ ** _tugged at his too long hair and shoved his face into his pillow, just like that first night when Mark had been ambushed in his hotel room and taken away. He thrashed and fought but his limbs were heavy from more than just sleep. He kicked at_ **_them_ ** _and tried to scream, to cry out, to warn Jack that_ **_they_ ** _were in the house,_ **_they_ ** _had found them, he had to get away but something rough tightened around his neck until he could scarcely breathe. Gasping like a fish out of water, he clawed at it, realizing with horror that it was his collar. The same one he had worn to bed. The one_ **_they_ ** _had forced on him._

_It wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he scratched and tore at his own skin, but_ **_they_ ** _could hardly care._ **_They_ ** _were too busy having **their** fun while Mark wheezed and squirmed futilely on his own bed. _ **_They_ ** _twisted arms behind his back, pinned his wrists to the mattress, forced his legs apart and rubbed tauntingly at the scarred skin hiding beneath his sweatpants. Mark was breathing so hard and fast he probably would have passed out- had he not already been unconscious. One of_ **_them_ ** _acknowledged his blind fear and cooed at him for it, reaching out to pet at his hair and back while another continued to shamelessly grope his ass and the backs of his thighs._

**_“Awww, Markimoo, what’s wrong, boy? Don’t you like it when we pet you like this? You’re such an affectionate little mutt. Never could keep your paws off anyone, could you? Just a big ol’ puppy dog. That’s how your fans view you, right? Someone to coo and fawn over. The true lap dog of Youtube. Bet you’d get on your knees and beg real pretty for just about anyone, huh?”_ **

_Mark choked on newfound sobs at the words; not just figments of his imagination, but actual words that had been said to him in that room. He could hear the voices again in his head as if_ **_they_ ** _really were standing right there, mocking him. Gradually, **their** hands slipped away into bindings, and the sheets tangled up in his limbs morphed into something far less inviting. Something hard, and suffocating, and not meant to be used on people but still _ **_they_ ** _murmured to him in_ **_their_ ** _soothing voices and scratched behind his ears. As if he really were a dog._

**_“Shhh, boy, shhh. There’s a good dog. You remember your training, don’t you? Good dogs always remember what their master has taught them. Lay down, Markimoo. Lay down. Stay. STAY. ....there’s a good boy.”_ **

_Mark was terrified, but his body obeyed the commands as if hypnotized. He was too scared to fight back; too tired to be beaten again for his disobedience. The hand that had been petting at his hair smoothed fingers down his cheek and made him shiver. Then_ **_they_ ** _backhanded him and even if it was a dream, it felt real, because he had felt the exact same action before. He recalled it clear as crystal but had little time react before the tarp was being wrapped around him like a body bag; restricting his movements and suffocating him as he was tucked away into darkness. The collar had loosened, but it didn’t matter, because he still couldn’t breathe. Every inhale was a desperate struggle as the walls of the tarp closed tightly in around him, **t**_ **_heir_ ** _laughter standing out even as all other outside sounds were muffled._

**_“Stay, Markimoo. Be a good dog while we go see what else your little love nest has to offer. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a leprechaun hiding in one of these rooms. And maybe if you listen, we’ll let you touch him after we’re done. But bad dogs don’t get anything except what they deserve. Don’t make us punish you for bad behavior, Markimoo.”_ **

_Mark screamed, and screamed, but no sound came from his mouth and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and Jack was in danger,_ **_they_ ** _were going after Jack and Jack needed him, needed Mark’s help but he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe he was just frozen and trapped and he couldn’t do anything_ **_he couldn’t do anything-_ **

Mark practically flew up from his prone position in the bed. Heaving and gasping as his heart pounded wildly in his chest, his head whipped around in circles; scanning the bedroom, scanning the walls, the window, the door- _everything_ but it was blurred without his glasses and imperceptible in the darkness of late night. Panting and drenched in sweat, Mark swatted blindly at the nightstand. It took far too long for his fingers to locate his glasses where he had neatly left them folded for morning. His shaky hands applied them to his face and the world slipped into startling clarity. His eyes had adjusted, and he could pick out every object and shadow in the gloom.

_Nothing._ There was not even a trace of anyone else having touched the room- not since Mark went to bed. Still panting as his body tried to come down from its adrenaline-induced high, he fought with a bit more force than necessary against his blankets. They had twisted around his limbs and torso from all of his thrashing and probably explained the suffocating tarp in his nightmare. Trying not to acknowledge the frantic edge to his movements, Mark managed to stumble from the bed without falling on his face in his haste. It was the small victories, truly.

Grasping and fumbling with the window, he was minutely relieved to find it still locked. He tiptoed to his closet and cracked the door open next; nothing but boxes. There was no one there. He was alone. Feeling relief wash over him in an almost nauseating amount, he took a few steps back towards the bed. He scrubbed hands over his face with a soft, exhausted groan. “It’s not real, it wasn’t real, I’m fine, everything’s fine, _Jack_ is fine… Jack is fine, and they’re not here. It’s okay… it’s okay….” He whispered the assurances under his breath; tone strained and too tight to do much good for his damaged psyche. His breath hitched with the threat of real sobs, and one hand dropped to squeeze at the metal of his collar for some semblance of stability. He hadn’t gotten better at all. They could still get to him, even here. Why the Hell were they bothering?

Mark failed to notice Jack was awake until Jack _wanted_ him to notice. He really should have known after all the “screaming” he had tried to do in his nightmare; it must have translated to literal screeching while he tossed and turned. It was a wonder the Irishman didn’t come barging into the bedroom armed with a baseball bat or something, fearing the worst. Then again, Mark was the paranoid one, believing his kidnappers could show up again out of the blue. Jack would likely realize he was having a nightmare.

Still, though, it was a little odd when Jack didn’t come in at all. Mark had been expecting it; braced himself to try and put on a controlled expression so Jack wouldn’t worry about him. Instead, his housemate had traveled past his room to… to the kitchen, from the sound of it. Maybe he was just getting some water? Maybe, because the screams stopped, he thought Mark had managed to go back to sleep? He was equal parts relieved and disappointed. Then immediately kicked himself, because it really shouldn’t be Jack’s responsibility to constantly deal with his bullshit in the first place. It was bad enough he woke the poor man.

Scrubbing viciously at his hair in an effort to rein in his emotions, Mark took several deep breaths. They only helped to regulate his heartbeat. His emotions continued to be a splattered mess all over the floor and his thoughts were a clusterfuck of train wrecks the world had never seen. He was a wreck. There was _no way_ he was getting back to sleep. He would just have to sit up and… do _something._ He refused to bother Jack. Mark would let his friend go back to sleep while he sat on the bed and tried not to look over his shoulder at the window every thirty seconds.

The footsteps returned, and Mark expected them to walk straight past his room again. Instead, they came to a stop at his door, and then there was a knock. “Hey Mark, you awake?” Jack’s voice carried through the wood in a muffled fashion that helped to not startle Mark. He was surprised by how comforting it was to hear a voice other than his own or that of his captors; their words trapped in memories upon memories buried deep in his subconscious. It made his shoulders twitch down just a hair, and immediately he wanted to hear more. He wanted to know for a fact Jack was okay and his nightmares were misplaced- not terrifying premonitions of some dark future.

Mark swallowed and pressed the heels of his palms against his knees. He was sitting on the edge of his mussed bed, in near complete darkness, staring at the opposing wall. Moonlight streaming in through the window was the only source of illumination and painted his silhouette in a striking manner. With sleep and terror still clinging like coffee dregs to to his face, he did his best to sit up and straighten out his expression before he spoke. “...yeah. Yeah, I’m up. You can come in, if you want….”

Jack pushed the door open, expertly holding coffee mugs in one hand. It took every last ounce of Mark’s willpower not to flinch or lean back, as if Jack was just waiting for that permission to enter and cause him undue harm. Like a vampire, or something with the same laws but was more terrifying. (Mark wasn’t scared of vampires even a little bit.) Leprechauns, maybe? Were leprechauns even _scary?_ Why was he wondering that?? Jack would have smacked him, but in terms of controlling his shit he managed it, even as the muscles in his face and biceps tensed with the irrational urge to _move._ To _react,_ idiot, or else “it” was going to get him. Mark wasn’t even sure if “it” meant “them” half the time or if it was pure instinct acting on the grounds of “mystery threat #628”.

Once Mark got over that initial fear, it felt _really damn good_ to see Jack stepping into his bedroom. Mark’s mother might have been the only other person that would trigger such an emotion in him at that point. Which, in hindsight, was kind of astonishing but beyond his capabilities to grasp at the moment.

Jack smiled at him. “Hey. Brought you something. Old Irish cure-all.” He turned one of the mugs to offer it to Mark handle-first. “Black tea, heavy on the milk and sugar. Nothing beats a good cuppa, no matter what’s wrong.”

It was difficult to grasp a mug of hot tea in shaking hands, but he managed that too. Mark brought it to his lips without really thinking about it because he wanted to drain some of the liquid. Otherwise, he would definitely end up dripping the stuff onto his lap with how his hands continued to stubbornly tremble. There was enough milk added that it didn't scald his lips, but it made a nice warm wave down Mark’s throat.

Jack sat on the edge of Mark’s bed, a respectful distance away, and lifted his own mug to his lips, blowing lightly on the steam before taking a sip. Mark glanced warily at him and took a larger gulp of tea.

It was kind of good. Granted, that was probably all the milk and sugar Jack had added, but the warmth of the beverage mimicked a sort of soothing balm for his insides. It coated his dry, raw throat and settled the roiling acid in his stomach. He sighed softly. “Freaking UK people and their tea….” Mark’s grouse was muttered and clearly not meant to be taken one hundred percent seriously, but the comment lacked his usual boisterous teasing tone. Please, let either the tea or the sugar in it steady his nerves.

“I will forgive your poor, ignorant little American head,” Jack said calmly, taking another sip of his tea, “but God forgive you if anyone else in this city heard you say that. We’re in the _Republic_ of Ireland here, my friend, and we are _not_ part of the U.K.” Jack shrugged a little, angling a smile at Mark.

Mark knew it was probably inappropriate to do so, but Jack _had_ just said he didn't give a fuck. He ended up snorting softly into his tea at the mini-rant over the discrepancy he'd made towards the Irish. Half of it was directed at himself- of course he knew better, about how Ireland worked. It was just two o’clock in the morning and his brain decided it had more important matters to focus on. Those being Jack and just about every corner of the room. Not to mention the window. Damn the window; he'd managed not to take a peek since Jack joined him but the itch was strong.

“Personally, I don’t give a fuck, but since people were being blown up about it as late as 1998...yeah. It’s kinda a touchy subject to a lot of Irish.” Jack glanced over at Mark as he spoke and the concern on his face was obvious. “But yes, we do love our tea. Tis yummy.” Jack took another sip. “And good for helping you get back to sleep in the middle of the night. Shut up, don’t give me logic about caffeine or sugar. It’s warm and thick and soothing and that’s the bit that really matters. Besides, it’s _tea_ , it’s not like espresso or anything like that, and you don’t steep it very long at night.”

“Noted. Luckily for both of us, it might be a while before I interact with anymore Irish people…. And when I do, you can just tell them I'm your ignorant American friend and it'll all make sense.” Mark gave a nod, but anyone that knew Mark could still tell he was making a joke at his own expense.

“I won’t have to tell them anything. They’ll hear ‘American’ in your voice and immediately write you off as an idiot.”

Mark downed some more of the tea sitting warm and welcoming in his hands. He was never the sipping type to begin with, and right now drinking the stuff served as further distraction from his paranoia. If he took a gulp, he wouldn't be able to turn and check the window. Even if it felt like the eyes from his nightmares were leering at his back from it. Watching. _Waiting._ He licked at his lips, wondering how his mouth could still feel so dry, and pressed on. Needed to keep talking; needed to keep his mind occupied. “Ever thought of trying warm milk??”

Jack hummed into his own tea, stealing glances at Mark. “See, that’s another example of your American silliness. Warm milk alone is gross. Warm milk in tea is good. But that’s okay. I’ll convert you yet.”

Mark really didn't see how adding warm, wet leaves to milk would make it _less_ gross.

“I’m still not used to sleeping here,” Jack said, as if he hadn’t come in because Mark had been screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. “The pipes rattle and the walls groan, and my bed’s set up the other way ‘round in the room, so when I wake up the door’s in the wrong spot.” He sighed. “Typical Irish house, though. The cabin was worse. I mean, not _entirely_ worse, it did have its occasional good points, but...yeah. Pretty much sucked all around.”

Jack talking helped. It _always_ helped. Mark’s brain hopped onto the train of thought Jack had triggered and proceeded to conduct with a natural ease. It was so much simpler than trying to sift through the wreckage of his own mental processes. He hummed quietly into his mug. “It’s still better than the hospital… and we have more privacy out here. If the house is bothering you too much we could always buy some ear plugs….” He loathed the idea, of stopping Jack from hearing him in case something went wrong, but Jack deserved comfort as much as he did. If the house was keeping him awake, then Mark would find a way to cope. He didn’t want Jack to make any more concessions for him than he already had.

Jack shook his head. “Nah, this is where I live now. I’m gonna have to get used to it eventually. It took a month or two to get used to the flat after I moved out of the cabin, living with roommates and having actual _traffic_ and electric noises like the boiler kicking on. I’ll settle in here again too. It’ll just take some time. Until then…” He shrugged. “It is _so_ much better than the hospital. It’s worth a bit of difficulty sleeping. That’s what tea is for.”

Mark tried to keep the topics light and humorous. Even with the poke at Ireland, he had mostly been joking. Humor was good. Humor was fluffy and airy and made people feel good; took their weary minds off the stresses and tragedies of their day-to-day lives. Mark _loved_ making people laugh but Jack was shrugging off his idea, telling him he'd get used to the new house and reminding him he'd moved miles and miles- er, kilometers- away just for Mark’s sake. That, and because the kidnappers had specifically tracked down Jack’s flat to dump Mark so it was his fault it was unsafe. The thought made his next swallow of sugary tea taste bitter in his mouth.

“I’m thinking of night lights,” Jack continued. “For all the rooms. Especially the bathroom and halls. But just, you know, a little bit of light so none of the rooms are ever completely dark. What do you think?”

Mark still wasn't looking at Jack. Did the Irishman think he was clever or something? Offering the night lights? As if Mark wouldn't see through the excuse about safety and know they were for his own benefit. He knew it was a tactic used to try helping the person suffering- it was a good tactic. It was also two-something in the morning and Mark continued to fear his kidnappers could come waltzing out of the shadows at any given moment. He was reading too deeply into just about _everything,_ Jack included. Still, the Irishman _was_ trying. No need to call him out on his gracious efforts. Mark stared into the rapidly diminishing depths of his tea and wished it could continuously just replenish itself so he’d be able to keep his mouth occupied. “...probably a good idea. So we don't trip or anything if we need to get up in the middle of the night. When this moon goes, it won't be bright like the city….” The celestial body was a godsend that night. Mark might not have been able to calm himself if the room was pitch black. Night lights were a good idea. Tea, he was starting to think, was an even better one. “...think it might already be starting to grow on me…”

Cupping his mug in both hands, Jack brought it to his nose and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Mm. I made yours how I make mine, but if it’s too much or not enough milk or sugar, let me know.”

“It's… it's good, Jack. The tea, I mean… it's fine.” Mark assured quietly. He wasn't much a fan of tea; gotta play up that American stereotype and all. Though he wouldn't go so far as to throw all of Jack’s tea into the river. Since he was _Irish_ and not English, it wouldn't have even been that funny. With all the sweet stuff in the mug to dilute the bitterness, he supposed it was decent.

Must have been, seeing as Mark proceeded to drain the rest before letting the empty mug rest limply in one hand. His shakes were gone.

“Jack, I'm… I'm sorry…. That you needed to move out here. That you needed to go back out to the country and get a place big enough for the both of us…. You already did so much for me at the hospital; when I got dumped at your flat. If it wasn't for this stupid pneumonia bullcrap I could've gone home and you could've gotten a new flat wherever you wanted….” Mark huffed out a sigh as he scraped fingers through his mussed hair; clearly irritated with himself. He hunched over with elbows resting on his knees and stared at the empty mug in his hands as if _it_ was the source of all his problems. His face looked too weathered for a man in his late twenties.

Jack had been silent while Mark spoke, but it didn’t last long once he’d finished up talking. “Okay, shut up. First of all, most importantly of all, I’m _glad_ you haven’t gone home, okay? Mark...L.A. is hot and smelly and crowded, and it’s _easy_ for your friends and family to get to. That sounds horrible. What I mean is…” He sighed, looking over at Mark. “You’re not ready for that yet. I mean, even if you were better at faking it already...just _me_ can be overwhelming for you. If you were back there...you’d just be swarmed with well-meaning people who love you and missed you, but...it’d just wear you down further. Faster. Here at least…” Jack shrugged, looking back at his mug. “Here at least, it’s quiet. You can go outside without worrying about getting recognized. You’re not gonna have friends dropping by your house or trying to get you to hang out with them. I...I think if you went back to L.A. now...you’d never come back. Not back to Ireland. Back to yourself.” Jack tapped a nail against the glaze on his mug and closed his eyes.

Of course Jack would immediately scold him for apologizing. Mark had admittedly anticipated that reaction; they'd had similar conversations like this numerous times before. It was something their respective therapists were trying to help them work past but not everything came so quickly. Their guilt had run deep for months before anyone even touched upon it- even if it had shifted and gained new layers once they came together. Digging it out at the roots would take time and practice.

Still, he _did_ listen to Jack, which was what really mattered the most. Jack had been there for him since his return and he wouldn't purposefully disrespect the man by not at _least_ hearing him out. Afterwards, his brain could pick apart the statements and decide which ones should be taken to heart depending on Mark’s state of mind at the time. Mark during an attack or breakdown was just about the only time he'd occasionally block out whatever Jack was saying.

Currently, Jack was saying L.A. would be bad for Mark. That it would make him stagnate- maybe even regress- with his recovery, and the points he made were valid. Compared to Ireland, L.A. alone was a concrete jungle of too much noise and too many people. Mark had issues just dealing with a hospital full. How would he react when he stepped off a plane to an entire city? Not to mention the plane ride itself. Mark had a breakdown just earlier that day, after his release from the hospital. What if that had happened on a plane ride home? It would have been a disaster, and probably all over the Internet. Everyone would know just how messed up he still was. The thought _terrified_ him.

Jack clearly knew Mark- at least, _current_ Mark- too well. Perhaps even better than Mark himself did. Or he accepted more about how Mark currently was. Jack was the only one to personally see him at his absolute worst. Anyone that visited the site could claim to understand how he might be feeling. His close friends and family would be sympathetic and offer any help they could, but that was just the problem. They _didn't_ understand. They weren't there through the anxiety attacks and panicked breakdowns and the sheer stubborn irrationality of Mark’s reeling mind. Only one person had truly experienced the worst of his recovery with him. That was Jack. From the very beginning, it was going to be Jack, because that was the Ship Sinker’s M.O.

And if he sometimes had trouble dealing with the person who knew how to handle him best, who knew his triggers and limits and when to keep his distance, then interacting with his plethora of friends and family at home just might have finished what his kidnappers started and killed him. The thoughts alone Jack was instilling, of being bombarded with concerned friends and family nearly every day, almost set him to breathing harder with anxiety. No, no, as nice as home sounded, it wasn't what he _needed._ Mark needed quiet, and seclusion, and minimal human interaction- just until he had healed enough to tolerate more than that. Until he had adjusted to normal society again. Ireland, though about as far from home as it could be, was exactly what he needed. So was Jack.

The realization almost broke Mark’s heart. He had always been a social, affectionate person. He cared deeply for friends and family alike, fans; anyone whose day he could improve for even a moment but due to his own issues, he had to “abandon” them for a while. He only made contact via phone or video calls; messages. He _knew_ they all missed him terribly and wanted to see he was truly all right for themselves. That was exactly the reason closing the distance, right then, was a bad idea and it was slowly driving him crazy. However, Jack was still talking.

“Secondly, I’d been debating moving out for months as it is. I’m loud. I’m _very_ loud. And acoustic foam alone isn’t enough to soundproof a room, much less an apartment. I’ve always been terrified of upsetting my neighbors, and after Felix got kicked out of his recording space…” Jack shrugged again. “I wanted to get a detached house like this one for a while. I just never got off my ass to do anything about it.”

Mark’s guilt-ridden brain wanted to silently call him out on a lie, but even he was more reasonable than that. Jack wasn't lying about being loud, or Felix getting evicted. It was perfectly understandable for him to want a new place. Mark could believe him, and if it meant Mark had actually _helped_ Jack in the long run, then he could live with that. Some of the weight lifted up out of his chest cavity and he tried to repair the rhythm of his breathing.

“And then…” Jack picked at a flaw in the glaze, dragging his thumbnail over a short, sharp spike by the handle of his mug. “...I’m selfishly glad you’re still here. I just...waiting all that time, being so damn _helpless_...It’s...it’s a relief that I can do this. Sit with you. See that you’re here and safe and better and not… I feel horrible saying that, ‘cause I know your family probably feels exactly the same way, and your other friends, but...a little part of me doesn’t care. I don’t want to be halfway around the world from you right now. For my own sanity, if not for yours.” Jack fell silent again, sipping at his tea.

The words out of Jack’s mouth swept away basically all knowledge Mark had about breathing- or, functioning in general. His thoughts about being a burden on Jack, about leaving those that cared about him to the wayside, were left in the dust by the confession. Face slack as he tried to properly process the information, Mark was torn between staring at his empty mug or turning to look at Jack. Jack hadn't said anything else. Was he waiting for a response? For some kind of acknowledgment beyond surprise? Or maybe he was biting at his tongue; regretting the admission entirely. It _was_ a bit selfish, and exposed a vulnerability in the Irishman’s seemingly invincible armor. Did he think Mark was upset? Or angry, for wanting to keep him all to himself? He didn't feel like that at all. Quite the contrary, actually.

To know Jack wanted him there _that badly;_ to know Jack stuck by him fully of his own volition and not out of some moral or friendly obligation. That Jack cared for Mark and worried for Mark because of something more than just pity or sympathy. Jack _wanted him there._ Jack wanted to _be with him._ He didn't care about the lows or hurdles so long as he could see Mark, and talk to him, and maintain that closeness. Mark squeezed tightly at the ceramic in his hands and bowed his head a bit more. Emotions were overwhelming him again but this time, they were good ones.

Finally remembering how to breathe, he drew an inhale that shivered in his weakened lungs. After listening and listening, he opened his mouth to speak; volume quiet and tone heart achingly soft. “...I didn't know you felt that way. I mean… of course, I figured you cared a lot, and wanted to make sure I was okay. But… I didn't know the extent… I….” His slow, pensive rambling probably was _not_ helping Jack’s confidence. He cleared his throat, adjusted his grip on the mug, furrowed his brows with determination and tried again. “...thank you. For being so honest with me. I… besides Dr. Agon, the nurses, my therapist- medical people, people _paid_ to make sure I'm okay, who are used to seeing people like me…. Besides them, everyone's just tiptoed around me. Sugar coated things. And… and I appreciate them trying to be careful. I really do. I know you've done it, too. And that's okay. I'm not mad.”

Mark finally lifted his head to look at Jack to show he meant it. His brown eyes were still shadowed behind his glasses but held a genuine sincerity and appreciation in them, a glimmer of relief that could be seen in the line of his shoulders. Like a child that had finally been trusted with something important; something precious. “But just now, you were honest with me. About how you've felt. It's not an easy thing to do... I don't know if I'd have been able to do it. You knew I might get upset but you told me anyway, and… and I need that, Jack. I do. And just like with everything else I've needed… you've been there to give it to me. I'm…” He gave a breathless laugh that was more embarrassment and self-deprecation than anything. A hand rose to his face to rub at his eyes; the surrounding skin; his forehead. He nearly knocked his glasses clean off- and then he was floofing his hair in that nervous manner he always used to.

“I'm… I probably sound like a big, bubble-blowing baby, saying this stuff. Or some cheesy protagonist of a Lifetime movie. I'm probably getting way too emotional- heck, maybe I'm even reading too deeply into it! Please, by all means, feel free to stop my incessant, appreciative babbling at any time. This is why you don't give idiot Americans sugar at two a.m., Jack. Now I will never, ever shut up and no one gets to sleep.” Huffing out an exasperated raspberry from his lips, he dropped his head again; nearly dipping his overgrown bangs into his mug. “...I'm tired.”

“Hey man, judgement free zone here.” Jack glanced over at Mark as he spoke, meeting Mark's dark eyes when Mark turned to look at him, and there was a small quirk to his lips.

“It’s…” Jack sighed into his half-empty mug, tearing his eyes away from Mark. “It’s just...these douchebags are known as the _Ship_ Sinker. Ships are more than one person. And it’s not...I am so very much aware that what they did to you was worse than anything I went through during that time, but it’s still… It was still _my_ name up there too. I was still as much a target as you were. I mean, you were the one they attacked directly, but… God, this is stupid, as if just watching it unfold was anything like _living_ it...but there was a difference. I mean, just in how Felix and I reacted to it. Or Tyler or Wade or Bob...just...I could tell. It was...somehow more personal for me. Like on that last day. Day ninety. Everyone was fucking _excited_ that it was over, and I was just...I thought I was gonna find your corpse, and no one got why I was dreading it so much, and just…”

Jack squeezed his hands around his mug. “I realize it’s a billion times worse for you, but it’s still... _us_. And...and it’s not over. It’s not gonna be over for a long time. Only now you don’t have to face it alone. And neither do I. And so...yeah. Heh.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “...great bedtime story?”

He looked up at Mark again, then nodded up toward Mark’s pillows. “Want to try to go back to sleep? I can stay here and keep talking, if you’d like. Always seemed to work at the hospital. I can pick a happier topic, like video games...”

Mark could appreciate Jack’s efforts to change the subject. It was admittedly dark and depressing, not to mention there was always the risk of something being said that could trigger Mark. By now, it felt like they had discovered all the hidden landmines, but occasionally a new one would rear its ugly head and catch them off-guard. Jack had shared, and now he was trying to establish normalcy. He didn’t want to drag Mark too much with his own pains and feelings. Mark understood. When it came to the trauma of others, he was always hesitant to compare his own experiences. It felt selfish; rude, but it was natural and Mark had suspected- no, _known-_ for ages Jack had suffered in his own right. In his own way. Again, because **Mark would have too** , and he would have felt just as guilty over it.

Maybe switching topics would have been smart, but now that they were being honest and open, Mark felt like something needed to be said. He wanted to make his own confession to Jack while it seemed appropriate; fitting. Not completely out of the blue or shoehorning the truth into an unrelated but equally tender moment. For a minute, he was silent as he fingered his mug, but then he drew a breath and let it spill out in the form of words.

“...do you know whose name came up, more often than anyone else’s, while I was stuck in that room?” His voice was still quiet in the silence of their home, but the soft quality had shifted to something more bittersweet. “It wasn’t Thomas. Or my moms. Or any of the friends I’d known _years_ longer. When I wasn’t hearing that **_damn_** nickname they decided to ruin for me, the name I always heard… was yours. You, Jack. They talked about _you._ ” Mark squeezed his eyes shut in obvious pain from the memories but merely transferred his tension to his grip. “You’re right. They call themselves that for a reason. To them, it doesn’t matter if a relationship is _real_ or not. They know there’s some kind of connection, or there wouldn’t be a ‘ship’ to begin with. There’s _something_ there, between the two people, and they get some… some sick, **twisted** satisfaction from it. Some extra bonus they wouldn’t get from attacking a random person.

“Of course, they enjoy watching the Internet freak out too. That’s probably why they… why they started, what they did. With me.” His voice had begun to tremble and crack. Mark sucked in a few breaths and squared his jaw, pressing forward; blinking back the sting in his eyes. If he wasn’t so weak, the mug in his hands might have been in trouble. “But besides mentioning my fans or friends or family, it always came back to you. They’d talk about doing things to you, how they could go and pick you up like it was _nothing._ Like it was just some game. They’d say such _terrible_ things about you, Jack. And I’d try to stop them, but they enjoyed that, too. Like it fueled their whole fucked up ‘ship’ theme. Because it proved I cared about you.”

At last, Mark was forced to set his cup on the floor so he could press fingers to his face; supporting it and his head and trying to stop the muscles from clenching up hard enough to give him a headache. He was only semi-successful. “And… and god, fuck Jack, they’d… they’d tease me. **_Incessantly._** First with the beatings, how I must be imagining my Irish knight in shining armor coming to rescue me. And then with the… the… stuff. It got worse.” He couldn’t say it he _couldn’t_ ** _say it._** “How you’d like it. From me. What I imagined doing to you. If I wished it was you. What you could do _to me._ Such messed up, whacked out _bullshit_ but there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say. And then I was just a **_dog_** to them, a _literal dog,_ and they’d say they were training me so I’d be _good for you._ Claiming I’d be enjoying it _so much more_ if **you** were the one holding the leash and it was so awful, Sean. How they’d drag you and compare you to **_them._** Maybe I was the one being attacked, but they wanted to hurt you too. They did. Even if you never knew the full extent….

“They wanted to make sure… that when they dumped me on your doorstep- or fuck, the _dumpster_ I guess- our relationship would be changed. No matter _what_ it was before. That we’d be ruined for each other…. From listening to them, being _used_ by them… from you having the opportunity to watch, them _knowing_ you would because you just wanted to see if I was **_alive_** …. It was _always_ about **us,** Jack. Your pain was just harder to see….” His voice broke; the last word almost lost to the void. Mark pulled a tremulous breath into his lungs, again, and stared through the gaps between his fingers with a newfound pallor. That had been far more than he intended to share and he silently prayed he hadn’t just hurt Jack even more than the Irishman already was. He had enough trouble forgiving himself.

Jack had listened silently to Mark, and eventually seemed to find his own voice again. “Fuck…” he breathed out, closing his eyes. “Mark...Mark, you know it was all words, right? I mean, I know you _know_ that, you know I’d _never_...but...I mean, you do feel safe here, right? With me?”

Mark shook his head so powerfully and suddenly he almost made himself dizzy. He had to drop his hands back into his lap as he stared hard at the floor for a moment; redirecting brown eyes to Jack soon after because he _needed_ to make it clear nothing they said stuck. Every time he flinched or turned away from Jack, it was a move he would have made with _anyone._ Hell, _more often_ in some cases. It wasn’t because he feared Jack specifically would do something; that he was more prone to committing those vile acts than anyone else.

“Of course, Jack. Of course I do. Sometimes, while I was stuck there, I’d have… nightmares. About them being right. Because of how they twisted my subconscious…. But once I was with you again; seeing and hearing and touching you, it all went away. Any misconceptions or lies they’d been feeding me melted straight back to Hell where they belonged. Jack, there is _no one_ I feel safer with, than you.” He made the last statement with as much force and severity as he could muster, tired as he was. Jack _had_ to know; had to believe him.

“Mark, I’d never...I’d _never_ want to do...to do _any_ of that to you. I wouldn’t hit you or...the other stuff. I’d never collar…” Jack’s words died, his blue eyes falling to that pink collar around Mark’s throat. “I…”

Jack noticeably trailed off at that point. The collar was so familiar around Mark’s neck he sometimes forgot it was even there. Like piercings, or a pair of headphones. He could feel it now, sitting snug around his neck even after it had choked him in his nightmare; after what he said about the kidnappers perpetrating Jack to be Mark’s prospective owner and just like that, it clicked together, and Mark’s heart sank. One hand reached up to fumble at the collar; grasping it, covering it, actually contemplating taking it off if only for a moment to get it out of Jack’s sight.

The other moved forward towards the gaping man at his side, hovering with clear trepidation for several seconds before landing firmly on a narrow knee. Mark squeezed the joint and some pressure was applied as he leaned after the limb. He ducked down to meet Jack’s line of vision and hopefully dislodge his connection with the collar. “Jack. _Jack._ Fucking… **_Sean._** Sean, look at me. **_Look at me._** I know what you’re thinking. I know _exactly_ what is on your mind right now but it’s not the same, Jack, you are _not_ ** _them._** They forced this on me and used it as an excuse to treat me horribly. Used it as a tactic to cause me pain. You didn’t. You didn’t do _anything_ except what I literally _begged_ you to do. **I** asked for the collar. **I** sent you to go find it. **I** wanted you to put it on me. You almost walked away. I _remember,_ Sean. You almost didn’t do it. But you knew. You _knew_ no one else would do it for me…. No one else would help me, even if logically it might seem like giving me the collar would be a step backwards. And- and maybe it was. Maybe it is. But… but I needed it, and it helped me then, and it was _you_ who did that for me. You didn’t use it to hurt me, Jack. You just wanted to help me. And you did, and…”

He inhaled, again, ever unsteady but still there. “...and grateful as I am, for that. I… regret it. To this day. Because I was blind to how it would _hurt_ ** _you._** How it would make _you_ feel. Until it was too late. And now you’ve got this weighing on you forever, and there’s nothing I can say to fix it, and you don’t…” Another crack in his voice, more stinging in his eyes- _'_ _hold it in, Mark,_ ** _hold it.'_** “You don’t want to accept that _I’ve_ messed up and hurt _you,_ too. But I have. And I’m so… so sorry. That I made you do this for me….” No, that was definitely a sniffle, the dam had broken and a few tears were trickling down. He was literally impossible.

“Fuck me, Mark, if there’s any day you’re allowed to be selfish, it was that one,” Jack whispered. “You absolutely should _not_ have been trying to think of me in that moment. You’d just...woken up in a strange place, been restrained, been medically groped...I think you were allowed to be completely self-motivated there. I just...I could have found someone else, Mark. I didn’t have to do it myself. Dr. Agon always put it back. He probably would have done it for you. I just...God, Mark, after everything they’d done to you, and I just went and did the exact same thing…”

Jack pressed a hand over his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. “Mark, I just… I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so sorry…”

“It’s _not_ the same, Jack. It’s **_not._** I promise. I swear to you, if it had been the same, I… we wouldn’t be here, like this, right now. We couldn’t be. Because… because I wouldn’t trust you. I _wouldn’t_ feel safe with you. But I do. And if I do, then that means you can’t be anything even **remotely** like them….” Jack wasn’t blubbering like Mark yet, but he had a feeling the other was getting there. He snuffled and scrubbed at his wet face with his free hand. His glasses were skewed by that point but he couldn’t see out of them with all the tears anyway; just watched the blur of peach and green (but no blue, not with Jack covering his eyes) on his bed break down right alongside of him.

In that moment, he wanted to hug Jack more than anything; to pull the young man into his arms and hold him while he cried. While they cried _together._ Like in the Lifetime movies he mentioned, or some cheesy, hurt/comfort fanfiction but this was real life, and they were both suffering from real trauma. Jack may have been perfectly happy with a hug, but Mark’s body was saying no. He was lucky to touch Jack at all with his emotions in such a mess, but he maintained that sole point of contact. He didn’t allow it to break and tried not to feel like absolute _shit_ when he couldn’t bring his other hand to touch Jack’s face; try and soothe his tears. In the end, there was really only one thing he could say that might hold any weight.

“...it’s okay, Jack. I forgive you.”

There were tears falling down Jack’s face as he sucked in a sob and dropped his free hand to Mark’s. He covered Mark’s hand on his knee, fingers twitching as if to grab tight but not being allowed to fully curl like they wanted. “Mark…”

Mark jumped a little, but otherwise swallowed down Jack’s touch. It was just the initial friction he had to get over. Give it a few seconds, and he would be fine. Give it a few seconds, and his body would recognize the slender fingers, calloused skin and a lingering warmth he had eagerly sought on a rainy Irish evening. Jack needed him; needed to _touch_ him. The least Mark could do was give him that.

“I hate that collar,” Jack whispered. “I know you need it...but I hate it. I’m sorry…”

Hiccuping softly, Mark scrubbed at his face a few more times before breaking down and reaching for the nearby box of tissues on his nightstand. He proceeded to just drag the entire thing over so he could set it between them on the bed. He grabbed a fistful of tissues for himself because there was no way in _Hell_ just one would be enough. Lips quivering with his quiet, hitched sobs, his voice was hoarse as he replied. “I know you do. I know _everyone_ would, if they knew. You all have every right to, i-it’s wrong, it is, I _know_ it is. I know I shouldn’t be so attached to it b-but I am…. I am, and… I feel naked w-without it. I feel wrong. I’ll be able to get over it, eventually, but right now… r-right now, I can’t. And I’m sorry. For not being stronger than this….” Another hiccup was followed by a nearly inaudible whine. “I’m such a mess.”

Jack appeared to struggle for a moment before he leaned forward to set his mug on the floor by Mark’s, then reached between them for a handful of his own tissues. He scrubbed at his face. “For fuck’s sake, Mark, you haven’t even been out of the hospital for twenty-four hours,” Jack whispered. “You’re still sick and hurt and...fuck, your _physical_ injuries haven’t healed. How the fuck could anyone expect your _mental_ ones to be better? You don’t...you don’t have to be so hard on yourself.”

Jack swallowed hard. “Mark, you...you’ve come so far already. _So_ far. I mean, look at _this_.” He tightened his fingers around Mark’s hand, just for a second, immediately loosening his hold again. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” he repeated. “You’ll get stronger. You will. And until then…” Jack wiped at his face again. “Ireland’s chilly. Plenty of reason to wear high-necked shirts.”

Mark alternated between swiping at his face with the tissues and just burying the upper half into their soft embrace. Either way, his face seemed endlessly wet with more tears and snot and he felt gross, but it also felt like something important had happened in him. Like something that had been lodged in his core had been chipped away. It hurt, but also felt better. Might feel a lot better later, but at the end of it all, through all the negative, Mark just had a feeling at least one positive thing had come from it.

“S-sometimes… I forget… how time can work. I mean, I had no sense of time in the room, and then… in the hospital… it was all just a stream of the same routines. The same things. Until now, I… I haven’t  had a chance to really grasp a day going by, or an hour. Just one day… i-it’s hard to believe. It feels like longer…. It feels like after all these weeks, I should be better than I am….” He took a moment to scrub at his face some more and let his glasses fall carelessly to the bed sheets in the process. His breaths remained shaky and uneven, but his sobs were beginning to die down. “I… n-never was very good at, not feeling like I was letting people down… or disappointing them.”

“As if I am?” Jack asked.

“I… Jack, I don’t know what I’d be doing without you, right now…. Oh my god, that sounds so cheesy and lame, just let me go crawl under the bed where I dumped the rest of my dignity….” There was humor there- just a hint; barely a teaspoon of the stuff, but it was there.

Jack shook his head. “It’s...it’s late. How about instead of crawling under the bed, you just crawl under the covers. I can tell you about the latest video game releases you missed, and you can fall asleep dreaming about playing Horizon in the morning, how does that sound?” Jack dabbed at his face again and took another deep breath, shaky but more solid. “Because you’re not in the hospital anymore, and I’ve got more consoles than I can record on at once here. And a bitchin’ fast internet connection.”

Mark blew his nose, and it was like the final nail in the coffin to a very enlightening, way-too-emotional-for-its-participants conversation. He didn’t smile with his mouth, but it lay hidden there in watery brown eyes. “Well, I’d be a real idiot if I said no to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	48. 5/31: The Breakfast Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets some more of that high quality home cooking.

Mark woke to warmth and light beaming across his pillows. Initially, he had panicked a little when he regained consciousness, but a scramble for his glasses and some deep breaths later had him calm again. One of these days, he’d get used to this ceiling, just like he had with the hospital. At least the birds tweeting outside were nice. So was the sunshine pouring through his window; once he got over the brightness of it. Then Mark could lay there and just absorb the sensations surrounding his prone form.

The soft, plush bed beneath him; pillow under his head; blankets pooled haphazardly about his body. The way light and shadows played across his ceiling from swaying tree branches or passing clouds coupled with the muffled sounds of nature and Jack in the kitchen. There was the smell of musty pine and clean linen and something faded but stubbornly lingering in the air. Mark supposed it might be Jack’s natural smell- or whatever cologne he had been wearing before bed. He breathed in deep through his nose, and sighed out his mouth. Any remaining tension or worry in his limbs eased out with the carbon dioxide and he tried to smile in its wake. The corners of his mouth twitched and the skin around his eyes crinkled but nothing else came, and he sighed again in disappointment. Eventually. Eventually, he would be able to do it _properly,_ and then he could make Jack smile too.

Mark knew he had to clamber out of the bed at some point. Jack would come to check on him if he didn’t. Plus, his stomach was growling angrily at him for lying there when he could go get some more real food. Even if it was just a bowl of cereal. _Anything_ was better than what they’d given him during his captivity and Mark still hadn’t gotten over it just yet. He savored every bite like it was a gift and had lost a majority of his pickiness. So long as it didn’t make him physically ill, he would eat it. Even if part of him wanted to just lay there and bask in the morning sunlight like a d.... _man,_ like a **_man,_** not a dog- Mark wound up coaxing his muscles to move. He caught the intoxicating scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting throughout the house and it served as further motivation. Gotta get coffee. Gotta get food. ‘ _Gotta see Jack.’_

Still, Mark took his time. In the room, in the hospital, it had been a sporadic rhythm of _rush, rush, rush, faster this needs to be done_ and hours upon hours of just laying there, doing **nothing.** He could do everything at his own pace now. He wiggled each of his fingers and toes; flexing them across the smooth sheets. Then he was clenching his fists and rolling his ankles, his wrists. He pushed himself up onto elbows after a long, drawn out starfish stretch so he could crack his neck as well. Mark let his head fall back with a soft groan before sitting up fully to stretch out his back next and it hurt a little, some of the bones and muscles, but it was a good burn. A healing burn. He was getting better.

Breathing in deep as his lungs would allow, Mark swung his legs over the bed and stood. It was a feat that had escaped him entirely just a few weeks prior. He smiled with slight pride as he stared down at his legs. _'Getting better, getting better, yes sir.'_   Mark curled his toes into the carpet, floofed his ridiculous bedhead with a hand and finally headed out. He almost tripped over some familiar mugs on his way through the door and blinked. “I… guess he forgot?? Better take’em with me so no one hurts themselves… or breaks the mugs. Or both.” Mark nodded but made a pit stop at the bathroom to relieve himself before circling back for the dishes.

Padding near silently to the kitchen, he felt his excitement bubble up at the smells smacking him directly in the face. Coffee, which he was already expecting, but also the sizzle of ham and peppers and onions along with eggs and his mouth instantly set to watering. God, finally, _no more hospital food._ Mark could have cried when he entered the kitchen to see Jack folding over an omelette. “Holy shit, he cooks too.”

Jack twisted to stick out his tongue at Mark, though it dissolved into a giggle. Mark assumed it was the bedhead- not that Jack's own green meadow was much better.

Mark pulled a face at him. “I know you’re laughing at the floof. You have no room to giggle, grass tufts.” It was a rather lame insult but he had been joking, anyway. Honestly, Jack’s bedhead was kind of cute.

“I cooked for my parents all the time, in the cabin,” Jack said. “I’m not completely inept in a kitchen. I’d say unlike you, except I’ve had your steamy dumps. I know you’ve gotten hidden culinary depths yourself. Hope you like omelettes, cause this one’s yours.”

“I really hooked a winner, huh? Now if only he’d remember where the dirty dishes go….” Mark teased as he wiggled the mugs up in the air for Jack to see. Setting them in the sink, he turned on the water to rinse them for the machine. Did tea stain like coffee did? Oh well. They were technically Jack’s mugs. “Jack, right now, I basically like _anything_ that isn’t a smoothie. Trust me. You could’ve offered me raw eggs and cold vegetables and I probably would have scarfed it down like it was a five star meal. But I appreciate the extra effort.” He did; that wasn’t sarcasm. Jack already did so much for him that knowing the Irishman had made him _breakfast_ on top of it left him a little internally flustered. “Morning, by the way.”

Sliding the eggy deliciousness onto a plate, Jack picked up the bowl with the rest of the omelette mix to pour the second one. “Well, nobody’s perfect!” he protested. “Besides, I had extra mugs...good morning, Mark.”

He glanced over at Mark again before crossing to the sink, filling the empty bowl with water. Then Jack went to the coffee maker to pour two cups for them both. “Don’t expect breakfast _every_ morning. I just felt like cooking today. Usually I’m just a cereal kinda guy. Or doughnuts. Or whatever.”

Mark pursed his lips and focused on shoving the dishes into the machine to stop thinking about the light pink he’d seen on Jack’s cheeks. “That’s all right. Usually, I’m up early. Just out of habit. I’ll probably be making breakfast more often than not and on my off days, you can get us some doughnuts or something. It’ll be a nice break from the norm.” Mark had no issues with cooking. Or, so he hoped. Maybe the knives and open flames would give him pause. He had been tortured with cuts and burns alike but that was different. Surely, surely he could work in a kitchen again. Though, maybe the first time, he could ask Jack to stick around. Just in case.

“Did you get some sleep?”

Mark grabbed up his plate all too eagerly and sent Jack one of his smiles that could only be viewed in the warm, brown depths behind his glasses- but it was still there. “Yeah. Probably not as much as I _should_ have, but more than I would’ve gotten if you hadn’t come talked to me. Maybe the tea did help….” _'_ _Or maybe it was just your voice, and you being there.'_ “But, yeah. Thanks… for that. It really helped.” Mark only hoped Jack felt a little lighter for it too. Moving over to his housemate to get his coffee, he let his clothed bicep _just_ brush up against Jack’s. It was a light, fleeting touch that could have been dismissed as the rush of air squeezing between their arms but it had been purposeful. Mark accepted the mug Jack passed him and hummed as he turned to head back to the dining room.

“Milk’s in there. Sugar’s in the bowl. Silverware’s...in a drawer. Somewhere. By the sink?” Jack shrugged. “I didn’t unpack my kitchen. I’m still finding stuff.” Taking his own mug back to the stove, Jack flipped his omelette before it could burn. It smelled _delicious_. “Told ya tea was a cure all. You Amuricans forgot all about it, too busy chucking it in the sea. Tea is magic. But coffee is ambrosia.”

With a grin, Jack helped himself to some silverware of his own, flipped the omelette onto his plate, and shut off the burner. He carried his breakfast out to the dining room.

“Oh, right. Fuck. Ffffft.” Mark had been so eager to taste what he’d been smelling all morning he completely forgot about the extra necessities like silverware (which he had gotten used to again in the hospital, with Jack’s help) and stuff to make his coffee something other than road tar. He quickly set about turning his coffee a more inviting tan color. Milk was usually enough to make the taste more mild; sugar was reserved for the _really_ strong stuff. Snagging a fork, he trailed after Jack into the dining room. His vision bypassed the table and chairs entirely and this time, it wasn’t due to his rush.

Mark took a seat right next to Jack- on the floor. As if the action was the most natural thing in the world. In the hospital, he had eaten all of his meals on a tray in his bed. Sitting or lying down on padding was what he had grown used to. The dining room floor was hardwood, but still a flat and solid surface; something he could spread himself out on. Mark folded his knees up beneath him and set his dishes on the floor. No more dog bowls and the addition of silverware didn’t stop his position from coming off as dog-like. The collar didn’t help to lessen the image.

He bent forward over his plate and tucked into his food- with the fork!- as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. Jack had always been sitting in a chair when he ate in the hospital. Having him in a chair again didn’t tip him off that something might not be quite right. Jack was just a bit higher than usual, that was all. Mark’s head still came up to his stomach. The first bite or two had a happy whine spilling from his throat and it would be easy to picture him with floppy ears set back and tail wagging happily. _Too easy._ “Mmmph… this is so goddamn good, Jack….”

Jack pushed his chair back from the table, picking up plate and mug and joined Mark on the floor. He settled in against one of the table legs and sipped at his coffee. He picked up eating again with the same silence but notably less enthusiasm.

Mark had been sipping from his cup when Jack joined him. For a second, his brain posed a question mark, as if the action should mean something significant. Something that was flying right over his head, but there was an omelette in front of him and Jack sitting across from him, and Mark could see nothing wrong. Good food, great friend and a beautiful morning where he wasn’t anxious or panicking or crying hysterically. He had done enough of that yesterday.

So he smiled at Jack with his eyes and his cheeks and continued to dig vigorously into the meal with a plethora of happy Mark noises. Normally, during their meals, Jack would strike up some conversation. He never liked things silent for very long and Mark, unless frazzled by something or other, would be content to participate in whatever topics came up but Jack said nothing. Not even a response or smile to Mark’s compliment on the omelette. In fact, he was sort of just sitting there; quietly shoveling each forkful into his mouth and draining his coffee. If Mark was enthusiastic, Jack was about as opposite as one could get. He felt his next sip turn more bitter at the back of his throat alongside the growing concern and confusion.

“...Jack? You okay over there? You look like someone just smashed your computer. Or told you they put shaved toenail clippings in your omelette. Or that they ran out of coffee beans in the world and this is the last cup you’ll ever have- am I being descriptive enough?? I have more.” It was a weak, slightly desperate attempt to make Jack laugh. Or at least smile. God, what had happened? The Irishman was so bubbly and _alive_ in the kitchen.

Jack looked blankly at Mark, then shuffled through his expressions until he found a smile. “Oh, just...thinking.”

Mark didn’t bother to hide his frown or the furrow in his brow as Jack obviously put on airs for him. He tilted his head a bit too; not realizing it reinforced the mental image of him as an actual dog. Maybe Jack _was_ just thinking, but clearly it wasn’t about anything good.

“Oh, don’t give me that puppy look…” Jack murmured. He raked his fingers through his hair, making his bedhead worse, looking away from Mark. “I was gonna try to get back to recording two videos a day,” he said. “I’ve felt like such a slacker, only doing one.”

After his initial suspicion, Mark had opened his mouth to call Jack out on his bull-honkey, so to speak, but it was impossible _not_ to hear the murmur in the otherwise quiet of their house. One word in particular drove itself deep into his brain like a red hot poker and actually drew a wince. Before his mind could latch onto the phrase and twist it into something nasty, Jack spoke up again, abruptly conjuring up a subject just like he always did; like nothing had been wrong at all. Part of Mark remained worried about the unnatural silence, but at the same time he was relieved to shove all his focus onto the new topic and away from the pitfall a slip of the tongue had nearly caused.

“Like a slacker. Ha. You’re a nightmare, Jack. Truly. I don’t know how you do it.” Mark had always sucked at maintaining a regular upload schedule. He’d be lucky if he posted one video a day. Usually, if he hit two, one would be a simple compilation or something of the like. A vlog, maybe. Thinking about working on so many playthroughs at once made his head spin. One game, on the other hand…

“It’s really not that hard, Mark,” Jack said. “You just need a schedule. And then you need to _follow_ it.”

Mark promptly blew a raspberry at Jack to dismiss his claims. Of _course_ it was hard. Mark had been a YouTuber long before Jack and had never picked up the tactic. That _had_ to mean it wasn’t as simple as the Irishman believed it to be. Cheekily, he muttered, “Sleep is for the weak, and schedules are for nerds.” There was no bite to it.

“You _are_ a nerd, nerd,” Jack pointed out. They both were. Huge nerds. “I’ll have the door closed, so it shouldn’t be too loud for you out here, but you can come bug me if you need anything. I won’t play anything I can’t pause. I can get you set up in the sitting room with the PS4 first, if you wanted to play Horizon. Or any of my other games. Your new charger should be showing up soon, so you’ll be able to use your own computer again.”

“ _Horizon??_ Seriously? Fuck, that _did_ come out, didn’t it? I was _so excited_ to get my hands on that release. My pre-order is probably sitting at home, right now. Damn it. Heck yes I want to play it. Have you tried it yet? Does it measure up to all the hype? Please, God, tell me the controls are smooth….” Mark had shifted to eager babbling once more at the prospect of picking up one of his favorite hobbies again. He hadn’t touched a game since before he left for the convention he was kidnapped from; hadn’t even touched a console or controller. The thought of sitting and wrapping his hands around one again, with colorful images and fun gameplay running on a screen before him, set his heart to skipping in his chest. Jack’s earlier out-of-place silence and the near-triggering slip were left in the dust, but not necessarily for the best.

Jack chuckled a little. “The controls are... _mwah_.” Jack kissed his fingers. “ _God_ , that game was so responsive. It’s incredible, it really is. The story is _crazy_ , gonna blow your mind away, and it’s _gorgeous_ , and the sound design is...I rambled so much in my playthrough. Kept going on and on about how _gorgeous_ everything was. It’s probably…” There was a pause.

Jack was making this game sound like the Holy Grail. With every new statement, Mark could feel his excitement compounding exponentially. He could remember now, how eagerly he had been anticipating its release. Before so much more- so much _worse-_ filled up his brain and made thoughts like those obsolete. Now, they were back, and Mark felt a little bit more like his old self.

Jack finally picked up where he left off. “...I mean, did you want to do it for your channel? We could probably set something up, if you wanted to try to record…”

Abruptly, the illusion of good times long passed was shattered because a stiff, resounding **_“no”_** rocketed up his throat almost instantly. Of _course_ he had planned to record the game in the past, but that was before cameras became a point of contention. Before they became an object to be abhorred and feared and blamed for every humiliating piece of media currently floating around the Internet. His captors had _ruined_ precisely what made him whom he was today. Both as a successful YouTuber and a person. He _hated_ it; hated how his tongue stuck to the bottom of his teeth every time he tried to respond positively. The mere thought of settling down in front of a camera with his emotions bared to the world _terrified_ him. It was simply an absolute no go. He couldn’t do it.

Feeling his remaining appetite wane at the realization, Mark prodded at the last bite of egg on his plate. There was no hiding the dip in his mood from Jack. He only hoped the Irishman wouldn’t kick himself too much for offering, because it _was_ a good idea. Just not for Mark. Not right now. “I… yeah, uh… I don’t… don’t think that’s a thing that can happen, just yet, Jack…. Even if it’d be good for my channel, it’s…. I mean, the game’s been out for a while now, it’s probably too late to hop on the bandwagon anyway.” That was an excuse. He _knew_ his fans would love for him to post a playthrough of it- even now. _Especially_ after his months of radio silence, but he couldn’t do it. “Maybe next time….”

“Yeah, it’s not old enough to be a classic, and _everyone’s_ done it. You’ll probably only be accused of copying people and not playing the game right. You know how vicious YouTube can get if you miss the trend.”

Mark gave an internal sigh of relief. He sincerely doubted Jack _really_ agreed with his weak excuse, but the other was following along with it anyway. He was grateful at not being called out on his fib (though he would prefer the term “exaggeration”). Giving a restrained nod, Mark tried to smile again. There was some twitching, a crinkle at his eyes- but otherwise no dice. Damn it. It was easier to reassure people with smiles.

“So we’ll pass on recording this one. But!” Mark clapped his hands; albeit gently, so as not to startle himself with the loud sound. “I still want to play it. And will fully take advantage of your oh-so-gracious offer, Jacksepticeye. Lead me to the Playstation forthwith.” He put on a bit of a posh accent just to make the order perfect and tried to redirect his train of thought. Off of disappointing the fans, onto how epic and fun this game was about to be. He wanted his mind to be fucking _blown._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	49. 5/31: Laughter and Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do scars and leprechauns have in common?

Mark was eyeballs deep in the thrilling world of _Horizon_ when the beautiful soundtrack filling his ears was split through by a shrill, Irish voice-

“MAAAARK! HEY MAAAAARK!”

He startled and very nearly dropped his controller at the sudden shout. “Holy balls, Jack, what? I don’t think Scotland heard you!” Mark called back. His voice wasn’t as strong as it used to be, but it carried well enough. He didn’t get a response until Jack joined him in the sitting room.

“Sorry, Mark, couldn’t resist. It was for a recording. Do you mind if I keep it in?”

“Huh?? The recording? You shreed my name like a hyperactive banshee because you wanted a snippet of my voice?” Mark glanced at Jack a few times but primarily kept his gaze locked to the screen. He had taken to the couch instead of the floor due to the extra cushioning and not left it since. He was completely enthralled by the game; it met all the expectations Jack had laid out for him. Mark had almost forgotten Jack was even recording. For the first time, he managed to get sucked into something that made him feel good, without even a shadow of his trauma to taint the experience. He was _happy._

“I mean… sure, I guess. All I did was say ‘balls’ and make fun of you. And mention Scotland. I guess your Scottish fans will get a kick out of that. But next time, just ask me. Instead of, y’know, nearly cracking our new windows?” Mark didn’t hold a hint of anxiety as he supplied Jack with a simple answer. He was entirely nonchalant about the matter while his thumbs flew over the buttons and analog sticks. It was all muscle memory. The movements came back to him soon after he gripped the controller in his hands and it felt really, _really_ good. “You were right, by the way. This game is _amazing._ ”

“ _Clearly_ , you are not a fan of Jacksepticeye if you didn’t catch the reference,” Jack said, shaking his head as he dropped onto the couch beside Mark. “Running gag, how I always shout for my ma? Only this time, ‘she’ answered.” Jack shifted around. “It’ll go after the outro, anyway, in a vlog. Just to let people know that I was back to making two videos a day, because you were out of the hospital and playing Horizon.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Well sorry for not making the comparison that apparently I’m the ‘Ma’ of this cabin. Hope you don’t expect me to keep picking up after you like one.” He mocked right back and initiated the contact Jack seemed too cautious to. He bumped his elbow into his new couchmate good-naturedly under the guise of moving around with the controller. There was a split second of anxiety as Mark glanced to check the distance between them, but his brain found it adequate; safe. He returned his full emotional focus to the game. “Oh, okay. Cool. They’ll love that.”

“Maaaaa, Maaaaark, I figured it was obvious.” Jack shrugged and smiled. For a little bit, there was silence while Jack watched Mark play, but then his friend was breaking it to make another suggestion; offer up an alternative to the recording Mark had turned down earlier that morning. “I’ve been getting bombarded with questions about you. I get why a video wouldn’t really be your thing right now, with your lungs and everything, but have you considered a picture? I mean, bedhead aside, you don’t look half bad today. Real clothes and everything. Well. Real pajamas. If you got a shower and got dressed and snapped a selfie, you could totally make three million people cry tears of happiness.” Jack picked at the leg of his jeans. “You don’t have to, Mark,” he continued quietly. “I’d understand why not. I just know that your fans are gonna watch and rewatch those last few seconds over and over again because they miss you so much.”

Mark felt his heart skip a beat in his chest- and not in a good way, that time. Deep down, he knew it was coming. At some point, he _needed_ to address his fans with more than just text. He didn’t have the dreary hospital background as an excuse anymore. They were in their new home, he was wearing _actual clothes_ and feeling better than he ever had. If there was _any_ time to snap a recovery selfie, it would be now.

That logic did _not_ make his heart rate slow down any. Fumbling at the idea, at the mention of how his fans would react, Mark paused the game. He couldn’t focus on it now. Not until this was settled. Grip on the controller loosening, he stared down at the little Playstation logo and swallowed tensely. “...I know they miss me. I know it’s… been a while. A _really_ long while. They got so happy when I made my first tweet; when I made that post on Tumblr. I didn’t think I’d get a reaction like that, after keeping them in the dark for so long. It was… it was nice. Okay, _more_ than nice. I really needed that wave of support. But text is nothing. I don’t have to worry about how I look or sound or act when I type out a message. Not like…” Like during the calls to friends and family. Mark was always _exhausted_ afterwards.

Still, it would only be a picture; one little moment captured by his phone. A single frame of composure. Surely he could manage _that?_ After all this time; all this apparent **recovery?** His fans deserved a real update. Something to reassure them he was okay and not just saying so for their benefit. Jack was right. He didn’t think he looked… _too_ bad. Just a little weary. A little thin, maybe. The right clothes and a good styling after a hot shower would fill in the cracks. The fans _wanted_ to see him. If he looked different… if he failed to meet their expectations, it wouldn’t backfire. Would it? He bit at his lip.

“...what if they get upset when they realize I’m not the same Markiplier they remember seeing posted all over the place? What if they compare the picture to some of my old ones? I don’t…” Mark sighed, letting the controller hang limply from one hand as he hunched forward over his knees. “...I don’t want to disappoint them. Or make them worry. If they think I’ve improved more than I actually have, if they think I don’t look like those awful images on that damn website….” Mark was sugarcoating the truth and being a hypocrite, but the possibility of causing a wave of negativity or backlash in his community almost made him sick.

Jack listened to Mark’s concerns, nodding along with his words. “Mark...you saw their reaction to your text. If you posted a picture, you’d probably get about two thousand pages of incoherent keyboard smashes, lots of less-than-threes, and so many all-caps ‘we love you Mark’s.” Jack shook his head. “No one will be disappointed. Especially not if you play it up...like, here, you have your phone on you? Take it out, take a picture of me.”

“What? I- uh, yeah. I mean….” Mark found himself sputtering and fumbling again at the abrupt request. He set the controller aside and grabbed his phone off the coffee table before really registering what exactly Jack was asking him to do. Once the device was in hand, he paused. Of course Mark had used his phone’s camera to Face Time. His family, at least, had _insisted,_ but he hadn’t really used it for anything else. Not since getting it back. Mark had no urge to snap pictures or record video. His Camera app went untouched.

Jack twisted on the couch to face Mark, pouting out an exaggerated duck-face and touching one finger to his cheek, his wrist bent at an exaggerated angle. It was ridiculously silly and adorable. Like the ones he would occasionally make when speaking to his fans. “Do something like this, and caption it ‘aren’t I pretty?’ and you won’t get _any_ disappointment.”

Mark snorted before he could stop himself. His thumb slid over the scanner button and unlocked his phone without much thought on his end. “I don’t even know if I can turn my wrist at that angle. Still healing, remember? I bet I could get my feet to do that….” The old backwards legs trick. He hadn’t attempted it since being released, though his captors did force him to do it a few times, for laughs. Mostly to see just how far they could push the joints before Mark started crying. The memory made his knees ache and he subconsciously rubbed at one as his thumb hovered over the Camera icon.

He was torn. Mark knew Jack was just trying to help, but this was a step he had yet to take. He hadn’t even _contemplated_ trying until Jack made his request. He released a shaky sigh and considered his options. Maybe he could make the playing field even. If he got Jack to do something he didn’t want to, then it would prove Mark should be able to handle it. Nothing serious, obviously. He wasn’t a mean person, but maybe if he had new material for the picture…

“Put on your best leprechaun stance and I’ll take a picture.”

“...leprechaun stance? What the fuck even is one of those? Hang on…” Jack dug out his own phone, swiping and tapping at his screen.

Mark gesticulated, at a loss, his cheeks going a light pink as he grew a bit flustered. “Y’know, the… the thing they do, in all the decorations. With the bent knees and gruff little show of muscles they don’t really have and the smarmy expression on their face-” How did one explain what was probably an _American_ cultural phenomenon? The damn thing only made itself known again around St. Patrick’s Day. For Jack’s culture, leprechauns were an entirely different _concept_ but Google, as always, proved itself to be a miracle worker. He sighed in relief as Jack grasped the concept.

“Okay,  I can’t actually do a jig, but...you want me to click my heels? I could probably manage that, but you’ll have to be quick on the snap! Or no, wait!” Jack bounced off the couch with a grin. “I have a hat! I know where it is! Hold that thought! Two seconds!”

Mark choked a bit at how readily Jack offered up his ideas for the pose. He didn’t even sound _disgruntled_ about it. More confused than anything, until he saw the pictures. Mark was flabbergasted. Did Jack _really_ want him to use a camera _that badly?_ Or was he not as offended by the joke as he had always made it seem? Mark knew Jack played up his displeasure for laughs but he had figured it was at least a tiny sore spot. Apparently, he was gravely mistaken and now his plot had backfired; spectacularly.

“Jack- Jack, wait, that’s not- oh my god. Oh my _god_ what have I done?” Mark’s tone was dramatically horrified as he pressed a hand to his face. There was no getting out of it now. Not without making himself feel worse, and disappointing Jack. Resigning himself to his fate, Mark tapped the Camera icon before he could chicken out again. The video feed came up after a few seconds and he held his breath. Staring hard at the image of his leg for several seconds, Mark finally moved his hand. He looked around the couch with his camera, then lifted it higher to pan around the room. The same image that sat before his eyes, just on a screen. Nothing scary or threatening about that. Just a room. Maybe he could…

Then Sean Fucking McLoughlin bounded into the room wearing… **_something._** Mark had no words for it. It was just a lot of stupid green hat and fake red braids. His phone came up, zooming in on Jack’s face automatically, and the sight almost had him falling off the couch. Mark choked on his own spit and whipped his head to the side so he could bury the lower half of his face into his bicep. He coughed and hacked out what sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter. Then he was _actually_ wheezing as his lungs trembled with complaint but Jack just looked so _ridiculous._ Mark couldn’t believe it.

“Are the braids too much? I can tuck them away if you think I’m too little-girl cute to be a leprechaun… Do I still need to do the heel click, or is this leprechaun enough for your tastes?" Jack asked, pouting at Mark and batting his eyes.

Mark glanced back at Jack in time to see the garish display and lost it all over again.

“Too much?” Jack asked. “It’s too much, isn’t it? It’s the hair. Damnit, I knew I couldn’t pull off red hair. Gaahhh…” Jack took a step closer to the couch, appearing genuinely concerned as Mark sounded like a dying cow, wheezing into his arm.

Mark wound up folding his arms on his knees and promptly stuffing his face into them in some effort not to die of suffocation. He trembled while his back rose and fell rapidly with rough breaths, but besides physical weakness nothing negative came from Jack’s decision; only incredulity and laughter. Mark shook his head to swipe his face against his sleeves because his eyes had started to tear up. Still tightly gripping his phone in-hand, Mark released a quiet, raspy reply. Suddenly, he didn’t regret his ploy quite so much.

“If you do the dance, I’ll take a fucking selfie.”

“You sure you can handle this much sexiness doing a leprechaun dance?” Jack asked, half-teasing, half-serious. “You’re not gonna hack out a lung or something? Cause I realize I’m some seriously hot shit when I go full Irish, but I don’t want to deal with your dead body today. There’s a reason I usually tone down the accent…”

Mark only shook his head some more at Jack’s verbalized doubts. It _was_ too much, but that was what made it so _great._ Mark was a sucker for that kind of sheer silliness. He often instilled it in his videos, be they vlogs or playthroughs or just comment readings. Seeing it again out of the blue, during a moment of anxiety, bowled him over in the best possible way. All of a sudden, the situation didn’t seem quite so dire or serious. It was just them, being nerds and taking ridiculous selfies. Eventually, he managed to regain enough of his breath that he could raise his head from where it had been pillowed into his arms.

His face was splotchy and red from his little fit of happiness but he didn’t care. He felt better. He _did._ He could make this work. **Focus on the now.** He had done it last night. It was time to listen to his therapist again. “I dunno, I can _barely_ handle your sexiness now…. I might just die from an overexposure to pure **Irish** but if it means getting all that culture on camera, it’ll be worth it. I can handle it. Just… keep the braid flailing to a minimum. If one of those smacks you in the face, you might as well call a hearse.” Mark wheezed once again, but successfully lifted his phone’s camera.

“Ya get one shot,” Jack warned Mark, pointing a finger at him. “I mean, you can take as many pictures as you want of me, I don’t mind, but I’m only doing one heel click, unless _I_ fuck it up.”

“One shot. One opportunity to immortalize this moment forever. The entertainment of humanity rests firmly on my shoulders. I refuse to let them down. Do your worst, Mr. Leprechaun.” Mark’s voice was still tremulous from withheld laughter but he was able to stop himself from bursting into another fit of hacking giggles. His thumb hovered mere centimeters over the camera button as he lined up the perfect shot. He prayed his quick time event reflexes would be MLG enough. (MLP? No- too close to ponies.)

Jack looked around, pushed a chair out of the way, and swung his arms. “Ready?” he asked Mark, flicking one of the red braids out of his face.

“You have permission to launch, you blaring green beacon of Irish idealism.”

“Three, two, one!”

Mark gave a nod; muscles tensed and poised as Jack counted down. The moment he reached one and leaped into the air, Mark snapped the picture. He immediately tapped on the image to see the results and gave a hoarse whoop of victory. Both of his arms flew into the air like he had scored the winning goal of a football game. “I GOT IT!”

“Show me!” Jack pounced back onto the couch, not touching Mark even as he leaned in. Mark briefly tensed but lowered his phone for Jack. “I _gotta_ see this…” Jack burst out laughing at the image of himself frozen mid-air, stupid Irish hat on his head, heels touching.

Mark swiftly got over his reflex at Jack’s boisterous laughter. He’d really been missing it, and it was good Jack wasn’t upset with Mark over the terms of their little deal. Much as his original plan had been to discourage Jack, he didn’t want to seriously hurt his feelings. The outcome turned out to be so much better than he could have possibly imagined.

“You, red Powerpuff, have superior camera skills. Obviously.” Jack plucked the headband off his head and held it out to Mark as he addressed him again, this time with much pomp and gusto. “Oh mighty warrior of red, let me adorn you with these braids of victory.” He offered the hat up.

“Obviously.” Mark looked up from the picture he was busy admiring (truly exceptional cameraman skills). He eyed the silly hat with just a hint of wariness before huffing out an exasperated raspberry on his lips. Slowly, Mark gave his head a little dip so Jack could crown him with the headband. It was the least he could do after the lengths Jack had gone to. “I accept your offering, oh nimble rogue of green. Crown your photography champion.”

Jack carefully set the headband over Mark’s hair. Mark could feel how the headband parted through his fluffy locks and then settled against his scalp, but he was prepared for the sensation. He had braced himself and focused on Jack’s face to avoid jerking away or freaking out. The tactic was surprisingly successful. Mark kept his cool and straightened back up wearing the silly hat. The braids wiggled around his face as he bounced his head a bit for Jack’s benefit, but they were too light to go with the red in his hair. He knew he probably looked ten times sillier than Jack had.

That was _okay._ There was nothing wrong with a little silliness. Not now, when the people whom would have sought to punish him for “being stupid” were hopefully far, far away. Mark could act how he wanted without fear of serious consequences like humiliation, or a beating. It was invigorating and Jack’s grin was the ignition for the rocket fuel trickling through his veins.

Jack sat back. “There. You look gorgeous. You can keep it for the selfie, or leave it off. I don’t mind. It’s your selfie.”

“Well, if you _insist._ ” Mark flicked one of the braids with a finger. “I’ll see how it looks with my outfit. Once I get that far, anyway.” He knew there was absolutely no backing out of it now. Not after Jack had willingly embarrassed himself just to give Mark some confidence back. Besides, if watching Jack had cheered him up to the point of making him nearly die with laughter, a picture of himself relatively healthy and alive would do wonders for his fretting community. He owed them that much, after hiding for so long.

“But...you probably should try to tame that floof first, or else that’s all people are gonna be talking about. Wanna grab a shower? You can take your time, and I’ll get started on the second recording, and then…” Jack shrugged. “Whenever you’re ready, you can do it on your own or I could be around, if it’ll help.”

Mark sighed at the mention of a shower.

“Yeah, you have a point…. I’ll finish up this bit here and save, and then I’ll go get a shower. Take as much time as you want for your recording. It’ll take me an hour just to pick out the right clothes for the selfie, anyway….” Well, maybe not _that_ long, but Mark knew he would be nervously picking through every piece of apparel he owned for just the right wardrobe. It needed to be _perfect._ If his clothes were right, then that was one less thing he had to worry about getting _wrong_ for the picture.

After assuring Jack he would be fine, Mark finished up the section of Horizon he was playing and saved the game. He made sure to turn everything off before heading anxiously to the bathroom. It would be his first time showering in a private bathroom; one without safety rails and a little door on the side and an emergency cord in case he somehow managed to hurt himself or had a heart attack or something. There would be no nurses hovering by the door or asking repeatedly if he needed any help. Just himself, some hot water and plenty of soapy stuff. Nothing to start worrying over. Nope. Perfectly normal stuff.

As he disrobed, his heart started to pound. He carefully set the headband with his other dirty clothes for the moment and stepped before the shower. Some tiled walls and a metal sprayer should _not_ be so intimidating, but Mark knew it wasn’t really the shower he dreaded. It was what happened _in_ the shower. Soaking, standing there naked and exposed, scrubbing himself down in places he tried not to mess with too much. Places _they_ had touched with reckless, aggressive abandon. Being alone with nothing but his thoughts and the white noise of water droplets slapping into the floor; into his skin.

Mark drew a shuddering breath; deep as his lungs could manage. He reached up to hesitantly unlatch and remove his collar. Then he slipped off his glasses and stepped into the shower. It was a little old-fashioned, but the knobs seemed to work well enough and when he adjusted the temperature there was indeed hot water rushing out to meet him. Unlike a lot of modern showers with massaging the muscles in mind, this spray was gentler. The water felt soft as it slid across his skin and through his hair. It smelled _good._ Mark struggled with a smile and closed his eyes and just basked in the spray for a moment-

 _-water, they loved to use water. To shock him awake, to keep him cold and shivering and uncomfortable, to embarrass him as he tried to use his ill-equipped tongue to drink from a dog bowl. Mark owned a pool. He_ **_loved_ ** _the water- so long as it wasn’t the ocean- but like this, with them, he really started to hate-_

Mark’s eyes snapped wide open and he sucked in a rough, ragged breath. His face was met with the spray of hot water and he stumbled back to bump against the wall with a sputter. His eyes stung as he tried to scrub the excess water from them and his breathing had grown heavy. He could feel his heart hammering out a steady beat in his chest again. The flashbacks had given him quite the scare. He should have known better than to close his eyes like that. Shutting away the outside world _always_ left the door of his mind open to the nightmares; the memories and chilling voices whispering words he had actually heard from his captors. Things they had said and done that haunted him like some unforgiving shadow to this day. Reminding him that no matter _how_ good, _how_ ** _healed_** he felt, they would always be there. Waiting, lingering; ready to spring into his consciousness at the first sign of vulnerability and make their presence known.

Mark pressed his hands flat against the wall behind him. He did his best to steady his breathing in the steamy glass box. Everything was a blur, but that was all right. There wasn’t much to see and if he looked down at his body while scrubbing it, he wouldn’t notice all the horrific details. Mark just had to try and focus on something. Something in the **now.** The spray? It _was_ nice, and it had calmed him up until old faces and experiences reared their ugly heads. Maybe, if he kept his eyes locked resolutely on the water, he would be okay. If he wanted to manage that selfie, he would need to take a proper shower. He pressed on.

Any comforts the hot water provided were easily canceled out by just how _uncomfortable_ Mark felt throughout his shower. Washing his unruly hair and too sensitive scalp was a process. If he kneaded too hard or tugged accidentally he would be thrown back to _that time._ When strangers’ hands would grab at his hair, pull on it, direct him willy-nilly by the iconic strands until he was scrabbling at gloved fingers and _begging_ them to let go. He knew they’d torn some out more than once. He could feel where subtle, small patches were shorter than the rest. It made Mark more self-conscious and he was quick to rinse out his hair.

Then came his body, which was equally bad- if not more so. Mark always tried to be fast with the soap. He rubbed rapidly along his face and neck and limbs, sudsing up his chest, abdomen and back to the best of his ability. Then he would have only one area left and his stomach would plummet down to his bare feet. Washing his private bits was more than a process or discomfort. It was a minor form of personal torment to himself. There was no other way to describe the emotions he felt as he touched himself. As he rubbed, scrubbed and gently rinsed away the soap and grime. The first few times, he had actually broken down crying. He just couldn’t do it. Not without thinking of **_them_** ; of **_their_** hands on him. The reminder made him nauseous.

Now he could get through it so long as he didn’t let the memories and phantom sensations overtake him. If he focused on something else, something _pleasant,_ he could muscle through. So that was precisely what Mark did. He lathered up his hands and then shoved them down between his legs. He scrubbed and scraped but was  _careful_ about it so as not to hurt himself. He thought of the new house, of the gorgeous view in the backyard and how delicious breakfast had been that morning. About how much fun he was having with Horizon and the hilarity of Jack hopping about in that stupid hat. He rinsed the suds from himself, and smiled, because it was over. The hard part was over and now he could stand there in the stream for a while, letting the heat wash over his abused muscles and press soothing kisses to each of his nerves.

He had no idea how long it had been when he finally stepped out of the shower, but his skin was a little pruney and the entire bathroom was chock full of steam. It fogged up the mirror and the little window near the ceiling; was likely seeping through the cracks in the door, but it kept the temperature pleasantly warm while Mark gently dried himself off. His hair, though too long and a bit stringy from abuse and neglect, felt a hundred times better now it had been washed. His body, too, felt rejuvenated. As if he had scrubbed layers of tension and stress from the previous days straight into the drain. It felt good. _He_ felt good. Maybe he could really do this. Maybe he could take a selfie and post it for his fans.

Actually humming softly as he stepped up to the sink, Mark swiped condensation from the cabinet mirror so he could see himself. Belatedly, he put his glasses back on to make the image come into focus and was about to grab his comb when he noticed it. There was a blurred shape in the corner of his reflection. It moved when he moved, which meant only one thing. When Mark turned around, he wondered how on Earth he failed to notice the full length mirror until now. It would figure such an old house would have one laying around somewhere. It was gilded, with a fancily carved frame and had probably been hanging on the wall for decades.

Mark couldn’t help but be drawn to it. He had one of his own at home, albeit more modern and resting securely on a set of metal legs. He could remember all the times he spent looking himself over in the glossy reflection; floofing up his hair, straightening his glasses, debating if he had picked the right outfit for a particular video. Maybe Mark was a little vain. It was hard not to acknowledge his looks when so many people clamored and obsessed over them, but he never let it really get to his head. He only ever played narcissism off for laughs yet it had been months since he viewed himself in such a manner; months since he’d been in front of a mirror like this.

After his hand swiped away the first stretch of steam, there was no going back.

He started himself off easy, with something he knew. His face, hovering pale and still a little gaunt in the section of mirror he had cleared. His stubble was starting to get out of hand. He would need to shave soon. Mark also knew he needed a trim, no matter how hard he worked to make his hair presentable. It was simply becoming impossible to deal with. For now, it hung scraggly and wet against his face like limp seaweed, almost devoid of its previously bright colors. His eyes, though not as dead as they once had been, were still heavily shadowed. There was a haunted look to them he could never seem to fully get rid of. A new bump in his nose that had never been there before- from when they broke it, and he had to snap it back. Little razor thin scars stood out light pink against his skin from the time they decided to cut up his “pretty face” on camera. They threatened to cut out an eye, too, but decided against it. Too much risk of killing him early. The chubbiness his fans had fawned over was gone. He looked ten years older.

_“Think the fans will still love him when he’s all scarred up like this? He looks like a war veteran.”_

_“Pft, or a shitty rip-off of Freddy Krueger.”_

_“In any case, I bet they’ll just_ **_love it._ ** _Haven’t you seen the fanart? They draw him bruised and bloody_ **_all the time._ ** _They won’t be able to get enough….”_

Mark wasn't done yet; not this time. He raggedly scrubbed his hand down from the cleared portion of the mirror to reveal his torso. The lingering burn marks and bruises had long healed in the hospital, but still there were more scars. A few he recognized from his surgeries, yet the majority were from his torture. Various blades carving up his flesh, shoes scraping off entire layers of skin as they kicked or shoved, angry dark scars where they pressed a red hot poker to his body and held it there while it sizzled and burned. He brushed at them, tentatively, with his fingers. Shuddered when the touches echoed those of the past.

 _“See, we read up about this thing called ‘branding’. Bet it sounds familiar. People do it to animals all the time- especially cattle. But sometimes, they do it to_ **_people_ ** _too. To remind others about just who they belong to. We couldn’t get our hands on a branding iron but any bit of iron should do just fine, right? Hey, get over here and chain him down. If he thrashes around too much it’ll ruin the art. Got that camera rolling? Perfect. How about you sing a little for me,_ **_Markimoo?_ ** _”_

Quickly, he forced himself to move on, turning around. He craned his neck, and it was enough. He could see the narrow criss-cross patterns of whip marks scattered across his back and shoulders. A little mark, carved forever around the middle of his spine. It had been so _dangerous_ when they held him down for the cuts. One wrong move, and they could sever a vertebrae or an important nerve. They could have **_paralyzed_** him for life but instead, all that remained from that particular horror were two sketchy letters: **_S.M._**

So far as he knew, only Dr. Agon and the nurses were aware of its existence. On camera, it must have been too blurry; too bloody or infected for anyone to make out it was more than simple cuts. Mark had begged the medical staff not to tell Jack and since the topic hadn't come up between them, Mark assumed they'd respected his wishes. It was their little secret- theirs, and the kidnappers.

 _“Still couldn’t get that whole ‘branding’ idea out of my head, if I’m to be honest here. Luckily for you, I’m a genius. And I came up with a suitable substitute. Just so you never forget who it is you really belong to. Regretting all that shameless flirting yet,_ **_Markimoo?_ ** _Bet Jack’s gonna_ **_love_ ** _seeing this… whether it’s on your living body, or on your corpse- tch, damn it, he’s still got too much fucking energy._ **_Bad Markimoo, bad, that’s a bad dog._ ** _C’mere and fucking tie him down already, would you? Fuck, I gotta do everything-_ **_Markimoo, that’s enough. LAY DOWN._ ** _”_

He brushed at the symbol with his fingers, shivered, and quickly turned back around. Mark wiped away more steam, revealing arms that were too thin and weak. They were littered with more scars and a few crooked fingers. Re-breaking bones that healed wrong could only fix so much damage. At least his hands still _worked._ His legs, too, harbored similar scars. Though the worst of it was no doubt his thighs- particularly the inner portion. Mark had lost track of how many times they relentlessly teased him with the sensitive location. The skin there was more scar tissue than anything else and he squeezed his legs together in an effort to hide it away; to quell the revulsion roiling in the pit of his stomach. He was too thin and too pale and looked as if he had crawled his way out of a war zone.

 _“Thaaaat’s it…_ **_good boy, Markimoo._ ** _Laying so still for me. Looks like all that obedience training finally paid off. I knew you’d come around. Always just been a miserable little mutt at heart, waiting for someone to snatch you up and train you right. To give you_ **_exactly_ ** _what you always wanted._ **_Spread yourself for me, Markimoo._ ** _You heard me. Now. I said_ **_do it NOW. ...good boy, Markimoo._ ** _That’s a good dog. Mm, you’re so fun to bite. Still so responsive, after everything…. It’s too bad we can’t just keep you here with us forever. But the torment and training’s only_ **_half_ ** _the fun…. Can’t keep your real master waiting.”_

There were no more bandages or stitches or cast, but there were scars. _So_ many scars. Mark knew each and every one of them by heart; could dredge up the memory associated with each. There were so many more on the inside, but those he could hide. Knowledge of their existence belonged solely to him. Others that had viewed the damage being dealt would have no idea about just how lasting of an impression was made but in that moment, Mark couldn’t care about his internal scars. It was the ones on the outside that crushed him down; smothered whatever confidence Jack had kicked up and reminded him that just because he looked _better,_ that hardly meant he looked _well._

He felt like such a hypocrite knowing he had preached about loving one’s body no matter what it looked like or what issues it might have. That scars were marks of survival; of triumph. He didn’t see any of these scars in that light. They weren’t from life-saving surgeries or accidents that provided him with important life lessons. They were marks of his abuse. Remnants of his captivity and torment at the hands of monsters wearing human skin. Constant triggers for unwanted memories and reminders about the trials he had suffered through. For _nothing._ For **_everyone_** to see. No matter how many months passed, or how much he healed, his torture would _always and forever_ be put on display. **They** had made certain of that.

 _“_ **_No one’s_ ** _going to ever forget about what happened to you.”_

He wasn’t the Markiplier everyone knew and loved anymore. He could put up a cheerful facade and fake the old, optimistic happiness he used to carry without fear, but he couldn’t conceal the scars. He couldn’t wear long sleeves and pants and hoodies forever. He couldn’t hide all the healthy color he had lost; the muscle mass. Mark was a frail shell of his former glory and it _hurt._  There was an ache within his chest as he imagined the reactions: pity from his family; sympathy from his friends. An entire community- _millions of fucking people-_ being aghast and repulsed and possibly minorly traumatized from the sight of him. Of how thin and _tired_ he was. Could he even call himself Markiplier anymore? He knew he wasn’t the Markiplier they wanted. The one they had come to love through years of loyalty to his channel; to his social media and panels and charity livestreams. That Markiplier was gone, ground into dust and blood by a couple of sadistic freaks.

The husk staring him down in the mirror was all that remained. No wonder the nurses had looked at him with pity. No wonder Dr. Agon handled him like he was made of glass. The pained expressions of his brother and moms, the horror that lingered in the eyes of friends he had known for years, the way Jack would go quiet and lose some of his own color if he happened to spy some of Mark’s skin. The only person in his life who would have seen past everything and still viewed him as if nothing had changed at all, was Chica.

_“Should have heard her, when I kicked her the first time. Dumb thing was so shocked she didn’t even know what to do but whine like a little bitch. Reminds me a lot of you, actually.”_

Chica was dead and Mark had her collar. Even with it gone, the marks of his destruction remained. At some point, he had started crying. Cool tears dripped silently down his cheeks. A tingling heat gathered at the front of his face, around his nose and eyes, triggering soft sniffles. The muscles there twitched and his lips started to tremble with the beginnings of sobs. In a burst of bitter anger, he reached out to grasp at either side of the mirror. His grip tightened and squeezed until his knuckles popped. The digits throbbed lightly in protest while he contemplated ripping the decoration straight from the wall; throwing it to the floor to shatter that horrible version of himself- the reality- into millions of tiny pieces. Into all the people that admired and looked up to him, that he would leave stranded below when he showed them just how _ruined_ he was. His jaw tensed, and his biceps bulged, and…

 _“_ **_Pathetic._ ** _If only they could see you now… oh, wait. They can. Smile for the camera.”_

Mark’s face crumpled like cheap aluminum foil as he forced himself to let go. Breaking the mirror wouldn’t solve anything, only create more problems. It wasn’t his reflection he should loathe. He shifted up to grasp at his deteriorated biceps instead, hugging himself and hunching forward with a broken wheeze. A keening whine slithered out of his throat. Mark wilted like a flower that had been touched and held and pinched too many times by wandering hands.

His descent to the floor was slow as his ankles and knees folded up beneath what little weight he had gained back. They hit the ground soon after and pushed him forward. His forehead met the mirror with a soft thud but he didn’t bother to look. Mark had seen all he needed to. He stayed there for what felt like ages as the steam gradually dissipated on its own, bringing a chill back to the room that sent shivers racing through his body but he failed to take notice. He was too busy wallowing as he cried and clawed at his arms and contemplated peeling the layers away. Just ripping it all off and hopefully there would be a shiny new suit underneath. Like a snake- but he was smarter than that. There was no easy out for him. He was stuck; trapped in his own marred skin and self-pity.

Nearly an hour later had him still sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. His knees had remained tucked up beneath his body but angled out towards the side now. His arms hung loose while the attached hands sat limp on his thigh and the floor, respectively. His face and shoulder were both pressed up against the mirror as he stared vaguely at some inconsequential spot on the wall. He had managed to stop crying, but his cheeks and eyes showcased the puffy red aftermath. Mark’s glasses lay discarded carelessly off to the side. He hadn’t even hosted the energy to fetch his collar for some minor source of comfort. He just sat there, naked as he’d been in the room and leaning against the mirror, vacant and empty and _gone._ The steady drip of the shower head served as the only sound.

An undetermined amount of time later, things were happening around Mark. However, his brain refused to actually comprehend them _._ He was too out of it to register much of anything, too lost within his own broken mind. His nudity, the chill in the bathroom, the hard surfaces that were going to leave his body sore the rest of the day; all of it was present but went unacknowledged.

His eyes didn’t move where they lay still and dead in their sockets. Were it not for the glimmer of life in brown and black and white, one might think he was actually a corpse leaning up against the mirror but his chest was still rising and falling on auto-pilot and if touched, a pulse could be felt thrumming beneath pale skin. There wasn’t a blink or even a minute shift of his pupils. He went on unseeing.

“Mark?”

His name, said so close, finally managed to coax _some_ kind of response from his body but it was little more than a twitch in his fingers. Nothing else changed- he didn’t even part his lips to _try_ and respond. It was questionable as to whether he was even in their _house_ anymore. He could be anywhere within the depths of his mind but it shouldn’t take too many guesses to figure out the prime suspect. His hair, while still straggly and damp, was almost dry. A clear indicator as to just how long he had been sitting on the floor lost to the ensnarement of his own negative thoughts.

Sudden touch triggered more twitching. Mark could feel the sensation of something soft sliding across his skin and the necessary pressure being applied, but it was muted to his consciousness. The appropriate signals went from his nerves to his brain and stopped there. Still, his body appreciated the cover and some of the goosebumps on his skin started to die down. His next breath was just a little bit deeper.

“Mark, Mark....”

Nothing else changed. His eyes remained as still as the rest of his body and continued to stare straight ahead, whether someone was there or not. He didn’t even twitch this time as his name was repeated over and over. Anything else fell on deaf ears. Mark was too far gone.

Slowly, Mark noticed singing filling the empty room and bouncing off the surrounding walls. His breathing deepened again. It lost the shallow, mechanic quality in favor of something more organic and natural. His eyes, glazed over and lifeless, gradually started to clear but no part of him had moved. It might have just been a trick of the light, but it was something. The steady noise and pull of gentle singing sunk into the depths he was buried in and started to dig.

There was an unidentifiable shift in tone and language but still it didn’t phase Mark. He responded at the same pace no matter the lyrical selection made but he _was_ responding, and that's what mattered. It became more and more noticeable as he transitioned from a completely blank slate to minor signs of life. His breathing remained steady, but varied. He was putting forth effort instead of making his body perform the action automatically. His eyes were clear but still unfocused. They inched along, at first, back and forth with no real direction but then they began to flit around the room at random. As if Mark was searching for specific details or trying to figure out exactly where he was.

He blinked, too. Probably for the first time in nearly an hour. The muscles on his face shifted subtly, nudging up or down as if they were stiff from rust like some real life Tinman. His fingers twitched. They twitched again, and then they were curling just a little bit, sliding over his skin and the floor in a blind fashion. Mark’s head dipped, just so, and his hair dragged across the smooth, flat surface of the mirror. His eyes landed on whatever was before him- briefly, for just a split second- once but he couldn't grasp where the singing was coming from just yet. Or that the object before him was any different from the furniture.

In the silence that followed the last song, Mark’s twitching increased a bit. His muscles jumped in his legs and toes and shoulders; skin that had become glued to tile and glass finally shifted enough to peel away the suction. His head turned a little, seeking out the sudden lack of sound. It was actually kind of sad.

Then the noise returned to Mark in a different form. He actually looked at the object, that time; drawn by the sound with nothing else to distract his slowly awakening senses. His eyes were open to the fullest; pupils blown wide. It was uncertain if he was finally seeing reality or if he was still caught up in some kind of breakdown-induced illusion. His face twitched, but no expression formed.

His hands, still sliding and turning and wandering subconsciously on their own, brushed against something solid and warm. Mark jolted and went completely rigid as he sucked in a tight breath. Then his hands retreated stiffly to his lap as he hugged himself around the waist. He huddled down beneath the decent cover of the softness around his shoulders- a towel? His ragged exhale was too loud in the quiet of the bathroom as he continued staring at whatever was before him. Brown eyes shifted down- at the warm, peach-colored blurs- then back up. Back down again. Back and forth as Mark  _tried very hard_ to grasp the connection; to understand the mess of colors and occasional sound in front of him.

He curled up tighter, pulling back from the thing but not _actually_ moving from his spot beside the mirror. Feeling was beginning to seep back into his skin and it came as a slight shock. All the sensations he had been purposefully blocking out while he trudged through his subconscious mind were returning. It was cold. The floor and mirror were hard against his joints; all of which were stiff as boards after being locked in the same bent or splayed position for so long. His muscles gave minor throbs even when sitting still, complaining about his neglect. There was something there, in front of him. Something he had _touched._

Mark was trying to grasp what exactly was going on. Images in his mind kept colliding with the reality his eyes were finally showing him. White tile, or white padding? Leftover water, or blood? He was naked, but his collar was missing- but so were his glasses. His hair was an overgrown, stringy mess. The line was lost in a blur of confusion and someone had been saying his name; far away and muffled under layers of invisible water. Like noisy fingers reaching and clawing and grabbing for him in the gloom, trying to drag him back into the light. It was so bright. Was the room usually this bright?

A sound, crumpled and distorted like his comprehension, tumbled from his throat without him even opening his mouth. It would have been lost entirely if the room wasn’t so quiet.

Now that Mark was alert again, he watched the thing- figure? person?- like a deer in the headlights. Sure, he couldn’t pinpoint any details, but he knew when the blur moved and his eyes would follow every action they could catch. He waited for one to come towards him; to try touching him; to hit or grab or hurt. His brain told him to expect it. His body was prepared for more of it and the blur did eventually stretch towards him, but it was slower than he expected.

There were more utterances and mentions of his name. Mark tried to lean away, but he couldn’t anymore without just falling over onto his back. Too risky. His legs- numbed and stiff from lack of use- refused to move at his silent command. He was stuck. Mark whimpered softly like a kicked puppy, but then there was plastic gliding over his skin and a familiar weight settling itself on his nose. It wasn’t like before; back when he’d first gotten his glasses in the hospital. He was more accustomed to their presence now. He just tended to forget about it when he retreated back into himself, into the past.

The world slid into blessed clarity and he blinked a few times. There was a mixture of disbelief and fear on his face- but it was an expression. It was _emotion._ He was breathing, and moving, and emoting and finally coming back to life. Mark was making sounds, though not words just yet, even if they weren’t pleasant ones to hear. He sucked nervously at his lips and watched the person warily as they just talked and talked- oh. Jack. It was Jack. Jack was the blur that now was distinctly _not_ a blur in front of him and Jack was talking. Mark should try to pick up exactly what he was saying. He tried to push through the ether and focus.

He was offering something? Sounds? Singing. Jack said singing, and talking. He was still talking and kept saying his name. It was nice, hearing it in that adorable accent over and over. Mark latched onto it- onto Jack’s voice- and pulled the towel tighter around himself with aching fingers. He made a little sniffle, but didn’t feel like actually crying. He wasn’t _upset,_ per se. Just… empty. A hollow feeling had settled in his chest and in his bones. Mark didn’t dare to look in the mirror. He kept his eyes on Jack and curled into a ball beneath the towel; looking enthralled by Jack’s sounds. He didn’t really supply an answer or opinion but clearly he was ensnared by Jack’s voice no matter what it might be doing. His brain sifted through all the bullshit and tried to put together the pieces while Jack re-grounded him into the now. He had gone off somewhere, he realized belatedly, and only just gotten back thanks to Jack. He _really_ didn’t feel like sinking back to that other place.

Jack was sliding his hands forward again, pressing them against the ground so they weren’t possibly raised in violence, stretching them closer to Mark to make it easier for Mark to reach back for him.

Mark, for a while, had absolutely _no idea_ what Jack was saying. It was just a comforting murmur of sounds and tones and syllables while he watched Jack’s lips move; watched the little tweaks in his expression or how his eyes would light up at a particular statement. Jack was so _alive._ Mark wanted to feel like that too. He hoped that maybe, if he listened to Jack long enough, the live-wire quality would just be absorbed through his skin. It was certainly doing _something._ Mark was alert now and had a better grasp on his surroundings. What was going on, and what they were doing- what _Jack_ was doing.

His eyes flitted back down to the hands inching towards him, drawing tension to his limbs but stopping short of actual touching. He sagged in relief. They were just sitting there; an offering. It took a bit longer than usual but Mark recognized what Jack was doing. What he had been doing for months to dance around Mark’s issues. He continued to listen to Jack’s rambling, but was now staring down at the hands. He kind of wanted to touch them.

It took him a while, though. Minutes of silence on his end while inside he was busy arguing with himself; trying to persuade his sore hands to move, shoving aside desperate walls he had thrown up to defend against the illusions of his own mind and squeezing forward. He _wanted_ to touch Jack. He wanted to make that audio grounding tangible. Like completing a circuit. He had learned about that in engineering, _remember Mark?_ Complete the circuit, make the thing work. Simple as that. If he completed the metaphorical circuit to Jack maybe _he_ would work. He really wanted to touch Jack, but his body was scared.

Fingers flexing a bit spasmodically and breath tightening with anxiety, Mark managed to release one side of the towel. It hung limp around his bare shoulders as he inched his hand forward. He settled it on the ground like a skittish spider descending from its web and pressed the pads of his fingers over the tile; feeling it, how cold and solid and smooth it was. Mark watched his own hand with baited breath as it inched forward, creeping along while Jack talked and talked but it was all just background noise. To him, it felt like he was trying to move the entire world back into the perfect position. Just enough distance in relation to the sun to sustain life. _His_ life _._ Losing track of the rest of Jack in the process and only seeing their hands on the floor.

Jack hadn’t stopped talking, but he wasn’t moving either. Mark still wasn’t paying attention to Jack’s words and he might feel a little bad for it later, but right now Jack was just background noise so it was okay. In his mind, what he had honed in on was more important. _Touching_ Jack was more important. His expression was determined and intent. The entire ordeal could have been posed as a mock documentary if they switched over Jack’s Irish-accented rambling to a British-accented narrator.

_'And here we see Markiplier, Youtube celebrity, slowly reaching out to his prospective mate. No one is certain as to why this process takes so damn long, but if successful it will prove that a suitable match has been made. Jacksepticeye, naturally, continues to make ceaseless amounts of noise in an effort to maintain his suitor’s attention.'_

It would make millions. Even if the British sounded oddly more like Swedish in his head.

After what felt like _ages,_ at last the tips of their fingers made actual contact on the floor. The little bump of pressure sent electric signals clamoring up Mark’s arm into his brain. They caused him to give a full-body shudder as he released the breath he had been holding. He bit his lip and pressed onward before he could lose his nerve; fingers sliding up and over Jack’s fingernails, his knuckles, coming to a stop at the smooth back of Jack’s hand. Mark’s digits sunk into the skin there until he could feel the little lines of bones. His thumb brushed a streak across skin only a few shades _darker_ than his own, for once.

He swallowed and drew a tremulous breath, then let his hand drop flat over top of Jack’s. Something indescribable eased out of his body and he deflated like a balloon. Full clarity, finally, filtered into brown eyes alongside the alertness. There it was. There _he_ was; both of them. Jack and Mark, together in… in _their_ house. Their home. **_Together._** Mark stuttered, not knowing if he was interrupting Jack or if the physical contact had made him go quiet. He urged his tongue to move against his teeth and for his lips to form the right syllables; shapes and motions he coaxed back coupled with a barely audible tone. It was a noisy wheeze, at first. Then incomprehensible stammering. In the end, four letters, smushed up together into a single word: “...Sean….”

Did he find Sean, or did Sean find _him?_

Jack took a deep breath, let it out, and then slowly turned his hand beneath Mark’s. He didn’t curl his fingers, didn’t try to _hold_ Mark’s hand, he just let them touch palm to palm. “Welcome back, Mark,” he said quietly. “You had me a bit worried there. Wasn’t sure if my lovely Irish crooning would be enough to bring you back this time.”

Mark pressed down harder against Jack's hand. It was more familiar that way; recalling times he had been laying in his hospital bed and Jack had curled their fingers together. This time, he slipped his hand up another inch or two, letting his fingertips come to rest at Jack’s pulse point. He could feel the little beat thrumming away- healthy and _alive-_ beneath the skin and it reassured him. He puffed out a sigh and fully closed his eyes for the first time in over an hour. They burned, but it felt good to give them a rest, and with Jack’s heartbeat bouncing against his fingers he could remain anchored. Mark licked at dry, chapped lips in some effort to make talking easier.

“...I was gone… for a while…. I… you kept… you pulled me back, Jack…. Thank you….” He wanted to apologize, but he knew Jack would just brush it off, so Mark let his guilt and slight anxiety about the whole situation simmer in his gut instead.

“I’m just glad I’m _able_ to pull you back. I’m only sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“I’m just glad you came….” Mark mumbled under his breath, even though Jack could still probably hear it. The house was so quiet one could likely hear a pin drop and he _was_ glad Jack came, because if he hadn’t, Mark would still be sitting there on the floor. He possibly could have been there all night and gotten sick again. Then it would be back to the hospital and he would have no one to blame for it but himself. For the moment, he didn’t think about the fact he was naked and they were sitting on the bathroom floor. All that mattered was Jack and the fact he had returned from the terrifying confines of his own mind.

“Feel up to moving? Maybe getting some clothes on? You’ve gotta be cold…”

Of course Jack pointed it out, and just like that Mark was registering. The exposure, the chill, the towel nearly falling off his shoulders doing little in the way of covering up. His eyes flew open and pink trickled into his cheeks as he pulled back from Jack. He broke the line of contact and the circuit he had completed. Mark tugged the towel close around his frame and hunkered down beneath it with a newfound shame. God, Jack had the opportunity to see _everything_ for _so damn_ ** _long._** Mark was unsure if Jack seeing his dick or his scars made him more uncomfortable. Had he seen the symbol on his back? No, probably not. Jack had primarily sat in front of Mark, thank god. Still…

“...my lower half is completely numb, I don’t… know if I can walk, right now. But I _am_ cold… and I do want clothes.... Please.” Now he was aware, the longer he remained naked for no explicit purpose, the more he felt drawn back to his memories of the room. Clothes _needed_ to be a readily available option here.

Jack let Mark pull back. “It’s okay, Mark,” he said quietly, “I didn’t look.”

Mark stared down at his barely covered thighs and puffed out his cheeks a little; one of a scarce few old habits they hadn’t “trained” out of him. Most likely because it made him look cute, which was fitting for a dog. He felt that childishness crawling back into his mindset and drop kicked it away. Jack didn’t deserve that aspect of him that had been cultivated by the kidnappers. “I know you didn’t…. I know you wouldn’t, it’s just… reflex. You know. Thanks.” There was still a hint of defensiveness to his tone and he bit at his tongue. God, he was fucking _terrible._

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “I know. I don’t...I don’t get upset, Mark. Not about that sort of thing. Here, we’ll...just start with your pyjamas.” Jack scooted over to grab Mark’s clothes, bringing them back to him. He hesitated a moment before adding the collar to the pile. “Are you gonna need help, or do you want me to leave, or...I could just turn around?”

Mark watched Jack and tried to get his emotions in check. It was hard. They were still kind of all over the place. Just because his consciousness and focus had returned, that didn’t mean he was _okay_ yet. He still felt shaky and a little out of it and his socialization capabilities were clearly questionable. At least, more so than usual. Still, he tried to give Jack the same courtesy he was being supplied with and seriously considered his options. Jack was good at giving him choices. Probably something his therapist had told him. Mark appreciated it.

“...could you… could you just, turn around? I… like I said, I don’t know about my legs, so… I’ll probably need help, getting back to my bedroom. I just… as long as you’re not looking, it’s fine. I can tell you when I’m done.” He didn’t add the fact he was terrified of slipping back into a vacant state if Jack left the room. Jack had brought him back, and was the primary thing tethering him to emotional stability right now. Take that away, and Mark would be left alone with his thoughts again. He needed something to focus on other than himself, or the mirror, or his scars-  _a_ _nything._

Jack twisted around on the floor, facing away from both Mark and the wall mirror. “Hey...Mark?” He picked at the bath mat as Mark got dressed behind him. “I don’t...I don’t want to make things worse. For you. Things like the selfie...you don’t have to. You really don’t. Not if you’re not ready. Don’t feel like you have to force yourself just cause I let you take a stupid picture of me. I take stupid pictures _all the time_. It’s not like an eye for an eye or anything like that. I just liked making you laugh again.”

Mark didn’t respond to Jack’s reassurance, just tucked the tidbit away for now. He didn’t really _believe_ it, but he tried to, for Jack. Because Jack wouldn’t lie to him. Jack respected him too much, and Mark did his best to make it mutual. Which was precisely why he trusted Jack not to sneak any peeks and focused his gaze on somehow getting back into his clothes. His upper half had successfully woken up and adjusted itself to the residual soreness, but his legs…

He grunted softly and swallowed down a pathetic whine as they refused to cooperate. They were numb and tingly from his toes all the way up to his hips. They felt like lead weights as Mark moved them around by hand and braced himself for the impending prickly side effect. Disgruntled, he tugged his shirt back on over head, adjusting his glasses afterwards and refusing to take them off. He ignored pants and boxers in favor of the collar, which he latched on with more ease than before. It still felt a little bit wrong to him, but Dr. Agon’s constant moving it had helped it become somewhat more tolerable.

He immediately felt more at ease with it on. Still, Mark tucked the tag and whatever else he could manage beneath the collar of his shirt. He knew Jack would hate seeing it around his neck again. As he began the arduous task of shimmying into his boxers _without_ standing up, his ears clued into Jack speaking again. While he listened, his heart sank. Jack had the wrong idea- well, somewhat. Technically, his fans were a major factor in Mark getting so upset over his body, but that had already been an underlying issue he was prepared for. In the end, it had nothing to do with the selfie.

It was just his body, and how far he had fallen. How _ruined_ he was- forever. How his captors had gotten the exact effect they wanted. Mark’s eyes began sliding towards the mirror again but he stopped, forcing his head to turn away. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Maybe they had an old sheet they could throw over it. Mark would ask Jack, but that would _definitely_ give the problem away. He would just go looking himself later on, and then never take the cover off. **_Ever._**

Except that left Mark with Jack blaming himself and he had to think of a way to discourage that. Jack made him so _happy._ Made him _want_ to be alive, to be healthy, to be _better._ Jack was the reason he got out of that hospital and had actually laughed today. **_Laughed._** He couldn’t let his best friend metaphorically kick himself in the 'nads when _he_ hadn’t done anything wrong at all. Mark had been fully confident to take the selfie, and then his own insecurities had fucked it all up. Furrowing his brows and glaring at the boxers half-stuck on his knees, he did his best to deter Jack’s line of thinking without giving himself away.

“You’re not making them worse, Jack. Trust me. You’ve only ever done the opposite… I promise. There are _so_ many people and things that have made this process worse but _you_ aren’t one of them. And one little suggestion based solely on helping me, _and_ millions of people, isn’t something you should feel guilty about…. It’s good. And it would be healthy… to do something like that. Push myself to really getting better, and… and not just _waiting_ for it to magically happen. Your advice **_didn’t cause this, Jack._** Sure, maybe I felt kind of obligated at first, but… but I was actually kind of excited, to post something for the fans again…. To let them know I was really okay….” Mark had gotten his underwear on, but he paused, clutching the sweatpants in his hands as his mouth twitched down into a frown. He’d fucked up everything. “...it would be good for me…”

“Pushing yourself is all well and good, but if you push too hard, too fast, you’ll just end up a wreck again,” Jack said. “I mean, you _have_ only been out of hospital for a day. It’s not like a new environment is gonna magically make you feel better.” He huffed a dry laugh, pulling up a leg to lean against his knee. “Apparently, quite the opposite. I think you’ve had more breakdowns in the past twenty-four hours than you have in the past week. I just…”

Jack sighed into his jeans. “I can pull you out of a funk, yeah, but I just wish I didn’t put you in one to begin with. If it wasn’t the selfie that triggered you this time, what _was_ it? You’ve taken showers before, gotten dressed before...nothing else was new. Except that. Or Horizon, but I don’t think Horizon’s got anything triggery. Who knows, though, Maybe it does. I don’t fuckin’ know. I just...I wish I knew where the landmines were better. So I could actually help _before_ you blow out.”

Mark honestly believed being out of the hospital was helping. The peaceful solitude of their new home was _helping._ There had just been a series of unfortunate events, that was all. When they first arrived, and Jack gave a tour of the place, Mark was _enthralled._ He still was. He didn’t regret the change in the slightest. His mind just insisted on screwing with him. Making him forget where he was, plaguing him with nightmares and introducing _himself_ to new triggers he didn’t even know were so severe. Mark didn’t have as many breakdowns in the hospital because he was _stuck._ Trapped in a rut of a routine, in that fucking _bed,_ every single day. With freedom came risk. Every opportunity had a consequence. Mark didn’t regret his choices. He was sure to let Jack know that much.

“Jack, I’ve had more breakdowns because there’s more _stuff_ here to potentially cause them. And maybe that sounds like a bad thing, but it’s not. Because if I was still in the hospital, with _less_ chance of something triggering my anxieties, I’d be fucking _miserable._ Am I like that when I breakdown? Yeah. But when I’m not, when things are _okay,_ I’m so much happier here, Jack. I’m more comfortable than I ever could be in that damn hospital. The house isn’t the problem. Your decision hasn’t doomed me.” He _had_ just doomed himself, though. Mark should have known there was no way to reassure Jack without throwing himself under the bus. Of course Jack would want to know the cause if it wasn’t the selfie suggestion.

Mark _could_ refuse to tell him. Jack would let him, albeit grudgingly and for good reason. Mark hiding things, and squirreling all his problems away for fear of Jack’s reaction, was unhealthy. He didn’t need a therapist to tell him that and if he hoped for honesty from Jack, like what he’d given him earlier, then it should be a two-way street. Traumatized or not, Mark had no right to hold Jack to higher standards than he did for himself and the Irishman was right. Just like he usually was. If Jack knew Mark’s triggers, what could set him off, then they could nip it in the bud together before it became a real issue. They could _prevent_ a breakdown before needing to fix it. Prevention was key for basically everything, wasn’t it? Why did Mark find it so hard to utilize?

Jack deserved the truth and he would question the mirror eventually. Mark couldn’t hide this. He let the sweatpants pool into his lap and sighed. The exhaled breath was deep and heavy in a way that reflected his soggy mood. He braced himself for Jack’s hurried reassurances and gave the man what he wanted. “It wasn’t Horizon. Or the shower, or getting dressed. It was none of those things. I’ve worked past them, Jack. You know that. It…. It was something _I_ wasn’t even anticipating…. Something new, that hadn’t really hit me until now. Until I was an idiot, and basically triggered _myself._ No help required. I just had to look in the mirror, get a _real_ look at my body for the first time, and I paid for my curiosity. I got lost in the memories, and I freaked out, and I just couldn’t function anymore…. I curled up into a ball and let myself fade away and I would have stayed there like that, for _hours and hours_ , if you hadn’t come to check on me. If you hadn’t called me back. You’re not the reason I keep falling apart, Jack. You’re the reason I keep getting put back together.”

“How can we fix that?” Jack asked. His head turned slightly, but not enough to look back. “I mean, we can cover all the mirrors up and take down the ones that aren’t attached to the wall...but if you were triggered by your own body…”

Mark just shook his head. It didn’t matter much by that point if Jack looked at him. He was covered enough. It was more Jack’s suggestion that left him uncomfortable. “We don’t need to do something extreme like that. I can look into the mirror over the sink just fine. Have been for weeks… it’s why this caught me so off-guard. It’s just this one. Mirrors like this… the ones that….” That revealed just how awful his _entire body_ was. With the smaller mirrors, he could pretend the pallor and scars ended at his face or shoulders; that the rest of him looked just fine. The wall mirror beside them had shattered that illusion and simultaneously triggered Mark’s breakdown.

“I was thinking we could cover it up, just for now. Until I can get over it….” Just like the shower, and too much light. Mark had learned to tolerate those discomforts. He could do the same with a damn mirror. (Even though he knew, _he knew,_ the mirror wasn’t to blame. It was his own disgust with his ruined body. The mirror simply forced him to acknowledge reality.)

“That mirror came with the house. I don’t even know if it can come off the wall. But I’ve got extra sheets somewhere. We can cover it up. Tape paper over it, if nothing else, or cardboard. Heh. I’ve got plenty of _that_ from all the moving boxes. I mean, short of making the memories themselves not so bad...but how do we even _begin_ to do that? What if...I dunno. I don’t…” Jack sank his cheek onto his knee, fiddling with his bracelets.

Jack kept trying to offer up ideas but they were pointless. Improve the memories? It wasn’t like Mark had fallen off his bike, or tripped down the stairs. Hell, even a normal mugging or a car accident would be easier to brighten up but three months of torture and forced captivity and brainwashing? There was no sugarcoating that. Not for the person who lived through it. “Not even possible, Jack…. Sorry, I know you’re trying, but… it’s just not….” It wasn’t feasible. They were at an impasse. Yet Jack wasn’t finished. He was the type of stubborn to think and think on a problem until he found some kind of solution. It was a trait highly prevalent in his playthroughs and earned him a lot of admirers. Mark knew there were some instances he just couldn’t take it anymore and threw in the towel but Jack persevered, and perhaps that was why Jack finally struck gold.

Jack pulled off a bright green rubber bracelet and twisted around suddenly to offer it to Mark. “What about this?” he asked.

Mark’s head snapped up when the other turned around so abruptly but he managed not to flinch. Mostly because he was too busy staring at the little bracelet Jack had gotten so excited about. Mark slowly quirked a brow. “Your… bracelet…? What…” Jack was extending the accessory to Mark like some kind of token or the favor of a fair maiden. He just stared at it.

“It’s not, I mean, it’s obviously not gonna make the memories go away, but it’s something you can wear, and you can wear it all the time, even in the shower, and it’s not...I mean, it’s not like my voice or anything like that, but you can tug on it like you do with your collar and remind yourself what’s real maybe…” Jack trailed off and went a little pink, even though Mark had his shirt on and his sweatpants in his lap, covering anything private.

A memento, sort of? Like a good luck charm, or something to remember a best friend by. An item a person could grab onto or squeeze in their hand for comfort or reassurance. Sort of like Mark's collar. How he would clutch at it and rub the little tag whenever the solitude of his imprisonment started to eat at him, or after an especially vicious session with his kidnappers. Something that was his, and connected him to happier times. Technically, the bracelet was Jack’s, and would _still_ belong to Jack in Mark’s mind even if it was a gift but it was also connected to happier times. To someone who _made him happy._ Jack’s presence alone was usually enough to steady his nerves.

Maybe Jack was actually on to something. A belonging wouldn’t be nearly as effective as the person it belonged to, but it was better than nothing. It could still call up a warm smile and hours of rambling when the darker memories became too much. If he could get Jack’s face and voice to banish the ones possessed by his kidnappers, it would do wonders for his anxiety and panic attacks. It was something more remote but equally grounding; equally reality-inducing. Mark didn’t have the bracelet while in the room. His body would _remember_ that. A little bit awed by Jack’s stroke of genius, Mark was about to reach for the bracelet when Jack turned back around.

“...sorry, it was a stupid idea, I’ll just...yeah.” Jack gave a pathetic cough.

For a moment, Mark was lost, but then he noticed how pink the tips of Jack’s ears were; realized he had apologized and rescinded the offer out of embarrassment. Mark shook his head again. Jack really didn’t give himself enough credit. “No, Jack, listen. That’s a _good_ idea. Giving me something of yours to hang onto. To grab at, when you’re not available. We both know you won’t be here for me forever. We need a way to prepare for that, and… this could work. I mean, it’s no locket or faded photograph like all the cheesy movies, but it’ll work. _Everyone_ associates these bracelets with you. If I have it, if I wear it… and something goes wrong, I’ll have an immediate reassurance. Something else of yours to grab onto besides your voice or you physically _being there._ I… I feel a little bad, just taking one of your bracelets like this, but…. I think it’s worth a try, at least. _Anything_ is better than… than getting lost again. You can agree with me on that much, right?” Mark _really_ hoped Jack hadn’t changed his mind in a fit of self-doubt. They didn’t exactly have any other promising options at that point.

“Oh please, I have, like, _hundreds_ of bracelets,” Jack said. “Giving you one is not gonna be a problem.” He turned around again, slowly this time.

“Well gee, when you say it like that, I could probably get away with wearing as many as you do.” Mark replied with a bit of sass and just a hint of humor, but they were good signs. He might not have been as fully relaxed as he was earlier, but he was recovering from the nasty breakdown. He was settling back into a content state of mind. Mark did tense a little when Jack turned to face him again, but the Irishman’s eyes never wandered. They remained glued to his face and soon enough the rigidness seeped out of him. He could always trust Jack.

“If you think...if you think it’ll help.” Jack offered out the bracelet again, but this time with a hopeful little smile.

“I don’t know if it will. I really can’t say, until… something happens. But. I’m willing to give it a shot. What other options do we have?? Besides, wearing it won’t have any negative effects, so…” Mark accepted the bracelet. He took a moment to examine the accessory, but it was just a simple ring of green rubber. There was absolutely nothing about it that could possibly trigger him, so he wiggled it onto his wrist; thinner now, but still thicker than Jack’s. It fit. He wiggled the limb a bit to watch it bounce around. He shouldn’t have to worry about it falling off and getting lost. It felt a little odd wearing an accessory besides his glasses. Mark didn’t have a doubt his fans would have immediately taken notice.

Right. The fans. The selfie. He sighed and gripped his pants. “Jack…. Can we… could we get that picture in the garden, when we do it? Maybe in front of the river? I just… I think I’d be able to relax more, if I had distractions around me….” He had always _loved_ nature, and it was the exact opposite of his time spent in captivity. Open, bright, airy and fresh and _clean._ There were sounds, always, and after the hospital he would welcome something more natural than beeps and wheels on linoleum.

Jack looked surprised. He perked up, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, yeah, of course...except maybe not in front of the river? I mean, _you_ can be in front of it, but don't have the river in the photo?" He sighed. "Ever since I got that 'not a stalker' letter, I've been trying to be careful I how much surroundings I show. The garden should be fine, but the river gives more of a location."

Thankfully, Jack's excited expression helped to cheer Mark up a little. Seeing his housemate happy always warmed Mark's emotions.

Yet the comment about the river was a sobering reminder that a cabin in the countryside could only keep them so safe. If they weren't careful, they could bring all manner of trouble down on their heads. It had been an issue even before the Ship Sinker came into play. YouTubers were the modern celebrities, and when it came to celebrities, sometimes people forgot that privacy and respect still applied. Mark could recall a few unfortunate encounters he'd experienced in the past himself. With sadistic kidnappers hanging over their heads, precaution was more valuable than ever. It had almost slipped his mind, after being off the radar for so long.

"Right... good point. I guess rivers might be a little easier to pick out here, huh? There's so many in the States.... But this is a big one for you, I guess. You mentioned it before, right? And if anyone recognizes the spot...." Mark shook his head, clutching tighter to the garment pooled in his lap. "We'll avoid the river. The garden's good enough. And once we get it fixed up then it'll be really nice. A great place for vlogs..."

"Yeah, I mean, everyone knows I live in Athlone by now, and there are only so many houses by the river to pick from. You could sit under the big willow, though? The sun's out today, so it'll be nice and dry. Perfect for a selfie or something. It's not so much fun to vlog outside here. I mean, even when it's not raining, it's cold or windy and your fingers freeze without gloves, but then you can't really manipulate the camera..." Jack pulled a face.

Mark nodded again. Sometimes, it was just easier, in comparison to the gushing responses he used to let pour out near constantly. Still, it was _Jack,_ so he could manage a comment or two as well. “I like the willows. We’re definitely keeping those. I haven’t seen them like this in a long time…. California has some, but they’re different. They’re kind of like bushes? It’s not the same at all. But we used to have them all over in Ohio. And they always grew by the rivers, so you could just lay out on the grass under them and watch the sun peek through the viney branches….” Okay, so that was more than just a few comments. Mark hadn’t meant to wax into his fonder memories like that but seeing real weeping willows had touched that little kid inside of him. Made him think of home, of the Ohio River.

He sighed a bit more warmly than he usually did and hugged his knees up against his chest out of habit. It was easier to smile when he could hide it in his pants. “The weather’s not so bad. It’s just more temperate than L.A. Like Cincinnati. Besides, with your fragile white skin, I figured you’d like this kind of weather….” Jack always complained about how _hot_ and _sunny_ it was when he visited the States- especially California. Poor little Irish bean just couldn’t take a sunburn.

"Heh, yeah, I prefer the temperature here. I just don't like the wet and chill all the time. If it were dry more often, I'd complain less." Jack shrugged, giving a sheepish smile at being called out on his complaints.

The giddiness that had started to show in Mark’s face abruptly flickered out. As if some invisible being had waved its hand and dispelled the positivity in an instant. For a brief moment, Mark was back, and already getting ideas for new videos. Then the reality crushed him down as he realized what he'd have to do to act on those ideas and the anxiety returned. "...well, we can take the selfie there, anyway...." he mumbled.

Jack fidgeted with his remaining bracelets. "What...What part of it is the worst? Is it the camera? Or the picture? Or letting other people see?"

Sweet memories didn’t remove implanted anxieties. Mark could look back on his past vlogs and videos with nostalgia yet it would do nothing to improve his confidence for current endeavors. He hugged his knees a bit tighter and stared down at his toes where they pressed into the tile floor. He hadn’t anticipated a discussion about this. “...being in front of a camera… it reminds me of them. Of the room. They would _always_ have a camera. I’d never know for sure if they were filming or not, unless they pointed it out specifically just to torment me more. And… and they didn’t tell me, about the website, until… until _weeks_ in. When they knew it’d be like a punch to the gut, because all this time they’d claimed it was just for them… for their sick ‘collection’.... But in reality, everyone was… was seeing me….” His voice cracked and his lip wobbled, so he buried his face in the pants still crumpled over his knees and legs. More memories, but nothing like the first ones. These were the mental scars. The trauma he would never be able to forget; only push past.

"If the camera's the problem...well, fuck that! They don't get to take that from you, Mark. We'll work on...Mark?"

_“Smile for the camera.”_

_“Boy, won’t your fans be so excited to see you again?”_

_“You’re making so many wild fantasies come true right now,_ **_Markimoo._ ** _Aren’t you happy?”_

 _“Finally, they’ll all get to see what you_ **_really are._ ** _”_

The voices floated back unbidden and unwanted but present all the same and Mark pressed his hands over his ears as if he could block out words that were buried deep inside his own subconscious. All he did was make his heavy breathing louder in his own mind. He could hear the blood rushing there as well, in time with how his heartbeat sped up. It was happening again. It was happening again, and he couldn’t stop it, he didn’t know what to do and he was going to lose it, right there, right in front of Jack whom was probably worried and trying to talk to him but Mark had covered his ears to try and block them out, to **_block them out_** but it wasn’t working-

“Nonononononono, no, no, go away, go away, goawaygoaway _goaway_ I don’t want it, I don’t, you’re lying, you’re lying they wouldn’t they don’t care it’s not… th-that’s not true, it’s not, **_go away…._** ” Broken, stammered sentences that were simply his train wreck of thoughts verbalized lest he explode from them piling up inside of his head. Mark squeezed his eyes shut, pained, but that just made him see wicked smiles and glistening camera lens’ on the backs of his eyelids and he _whimpered;_ scrambling and scared and at a loss. His breath hitched in a dry, desperate sob. _“Please don’t let them see this….”_ It was a strained sentence that wasn’t directed at anyone in the room. Not this one, in any case.

"TOP O' THE MORNIN' TO YA LADDIE! MY NAME IS JACKSEPTICEYE AND YOU ARE NOT IN THAT ROOM!"

The Irish tinted screech ripped through Mark’s funk like a hurricane. He jolted as if struck by lightning and gave a scream of his own out of pure reflex. It sounded just like his old cries of terror, and thus would have been humorous if he wasn’t having a panic attack. His hands flew down from his head and his upper body jerked away from his knees to stare at Jack with wild, glistening brown eyes. Mark’s expression was a mixture of shock, confusion and fear. His body language hovered around anxious trepidation and uncertainty but he was staring at Jack, and he had stopped muttering to himself.

“J… Ja….” His breath stuttered in his chest, and then he was turning to cough a bit into the crook of his arm. Mark’s ailing lungs were _pissed_ at him after all the abuse they had taken today, but the sequence of events succeeded in pulling him out of the rapid downward spiral in his emotions. How could anyone _not_ tune back into the present, into reality, when faced with such a raucous shout? It was as if Jack had torn a hole in the padded wall of that room, launched himself through it and _punched his kidnappers in the face,_ ** _LIKE A BOSS._** (If anyone ever drew fanart of such a thing, Mark would cry.)

No longer panicking, but still an anxiety-riddled mess trying to steady his quaking lungs, Mark wheezed against the flesh of his arm. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry I… I just… I lost it, I lost, I couldn’t…. I-it shouldn’t be that… fuck, I suck…. Jack….” Unbelievable. Mark had just worked to convince Jack the house was good for him, and then he goes and nearly has another breakdown. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe he should just be in a hospital, where nothing could rock his calm like an earthquake and summon the very worst thoughts to the forefront of his mind. Or maybe it _was_ just him, and he was too fucked up to succeed. One day. He wanted to go _one day_ without freaking out.

"That one was my fault," Jack said, shaking his head. "That was...god, I _asked_ you to think about it, that was an incredibly stupid thing to do, I'm sorry, Mark, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to jump scare you like that, but you couldn't hear me..."

“I-it’s okay, it’s okay, I understand…. I don’t think… you could get through to me, a-any other way, right then, I….” Mark had been _deep._ Not in the same way as when Jack found him earlier. More lost to his own memories and self-torment than simply shutting down in some effort to preserve his insanity. They were polar opposites, but equally frightening in their own special ways and Jack had to put up with it all. He had only been trying to help, to _understand,_ when he asked Mark about the cameras. Maybe it _had_ been stupid, in hindsight, but the road to Hell was paved with good intentions and Mark didn’t hold a grudge against Jack for a few slip-ups.

Jack ran a shaky hand through his hair, glancing back to Mark. "Mark, I...I really wish I could give you a hug right now. You look like you need one. I can...hold your hand?" He offered the touch, stretching out his hand toward Mark, even as it shook.

Mark didn’t hold a grudge, but was scared to hold Jack’s hand. Mark hated himself for that. For the fact that just _touching_ Jack was so hard sometimes. Jack was ever patient with him, ever careful, but it only worked to his advantage about half the time. Mark was forced to turn him down _so often_ and every instance, he could see the pain in those blue eyes as Jack retreated. He agreed with the Irishman whole-heartedly about the hugs. They both could use one, preferably from each other, but the thought of pressing his body up against another’s in that moment nearly stole his breath away all over again. He had no doubts it would throw him straight back into a panic, or he would go rigid and shut down again. Mark couldn’t let Jack be the cause of either of those reactions. Not again.

He scrabbled fingers through his hair and shook his head out of exasperation, huffing and puffing like he would while playing an especially frustrating game. “I wish I could hug you too. I _do._ I do, but I _can’t,_ and I’m so fucking sick of that- I just… I _want_ to, Jack. I really want to but if I do it my body will freak out again and I can’t… I can’t let it, it’s too damaged, it _hurts…._ ” He was wearing himself thin and it showe, but he had held hands with Jack earlier. He'd initiated the contact and steadied them both. Jack’s pulse had been comforting. Why couldn’t he do it again?

Jack’s fingers were _shaking,_ for fuck’s sake. Mark’s heart ripped a bit at the seams. He was killing this man. He was. Dragging his best friend straight down with him into Hell, slowly but surely. Mark’s face fell and he scrubbed at it vigorously with a hand. Just some fingers. It was fine. No big deal. He kept telling himself that as he reached out, hesitated, started to pull back but then pressed forward. He wrapped his fingers around Jack’s trembling digits with a rushed squeeze. His heart jolted in his chest but he drew a breath and held it there. He stubbornly gripped Jack’s hand and scowled at his own, as if daring it to let go. “...I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry, this isn’t… this isn’t your fault, Jack….”

"You don't need to be sorry, Mark," Jack murmured, letting Mark hold his hand for a minute before he curled his fingers around Mark's in return, squeezing very gently. It wasn't a hug. It was no where near a hug. It was the best Mark could do right now. "You're holding my hand. There's nothing wrong with that. It's great, actually. I know it doesn't _feel_ great...but Mark, it really is. One step at a time, right?"

Only this was the only step Mark had really managed as far as physical contact could go, and Jack had managed it on day one with Mark. Six weeks later, Mark had gone no further.

Mark sighed from his nose and his scrunched up expression smoothed out a bit. He really did like holding hands with Jack. It was just a matter of getting over that first hurdle of contact. He would probably enjoy a hug too, but he was scared. His face fell a little at Jack’s gentle reassurance and he stared at their joined hands with doubt in his eyes. “...yeah… one step at a time….” One singular step in over a month. Yeah. He was making progress, all right.

There was no real helping it at the moment, though. Mark was too frazzled. His nerves were frayed at the edges. His barriers were all worn thin and at the bottom of it, he was just _tired._ Mark wanted to lay back and relax without risk of curling up into another ball; of losing his head.

Maybe they did need to push. A little, but not here. Not in this room. It was too small, too white, too close to Mark's cell and definitely not with that mirror. Jack hummed to himself, looking at their linked hands. "Mark...How about we go outside? You can finish getting dressed, I'll make some hot chocolate, and we can sit under the willow tree?"

Jack’s offer rode on the wings of angels and Mark latched onto the mental image almost instantly. It sounded like _heaven._ “Y… yeah. You know what? Yeah. I like that idea. Let’s do it.” There was a slight pause, and then Mark ducked his head an inch or so to hide the quirk of his lips. “...you’d better put extra marshmallows in mine.”

"Oh Mark," Jack said. "Oh Mark, I am _insulted_ that you think I'd _ever_ make hot chocolate without extra marshmallows. You do know me, right? We have met?" He was smiling though.

Mark gave a soft little scoff that was about as close to a laugh as he could manage in that moment. “Hey, cut me some slack, you’re usually a cakes and cookies sort of guy. How was I supposed to know marshmallows were part of your sugary repertoire?” Even though Jack was basically a skinny marshmallow topped with some bright green frosting. The thought would have set old Mark to positively beaming. Instead, his eyes softened and he gave Jack’s hand another squeeze.

"Does it have sugar? Then yes, Jack eats too much of it." Jack squeezed Mark's fingers back.

“Okay, okay, you’ve got me there.” Jack’s sugar addiction was one of his hallmarks and possibly a reason for his constantly high levels of energy. Mark hadn’t really seen him crash naturally yet (passing out from repeated hospital trips and balancing his personal life didn’t count) but he could imagine it happened eventually. He was hardly against sweet things himself, but he had his limits.

"Okay. Pants first. I mean, we do have a fence, so if you really didn't want to wear pants, you don't have to, but I don't think it's quite that warm. Pants, and then I'll make the hot chocolate while you fail to tame the floof, and then we can go outside." Jack looked back at their linked fingers. "And we can hold hands out there too, if you want to."

Mark’s free hand dropped down to grip at the pants in his lap again at their mention. He had almost forgotten they weren’t actually _on_ his body yet. He would definitely need to fix that. He couldn’t even walk around the house without them yet, let alone go _outside._ “I’ll get them on. And if I still can’t walk right, I’ll give you a shout… not as loud as yours, though. My lungs might just collapse.” Mark glanced at their linked hands and flexed his fingers a bit, waiting for Jack to break contact because _he_ was the one that requested it; that was savoring it. Mark really needed both hands to get his pants on. “...yeah. That’d be cool.” Christ, he sounded lame.

Jack took a deep breath, then uncurled his fingers and drew his hand back. "Okay. Shout if they come back. Remember your bracelet. I'll be down the hall, in the kitchen. Come find me when you're ready." He backed away from Mark before he stood up; movements not quite sturdy. He smiled at Mark anyway, then left the bathroom to give Mark some privacy.

Mark felt disappointed and relieved- again. It seemed to be the recurring emotions that hit him whenever they broke contact. He reassured that little part of him they would probably be holding hands again soon enough and it was satisfied. “All right. Be there in a minute.” Mark’s fingers trailed back to the bracelet at its mention, and he watched Jack leave the bathroom. While he fidgeted with the rubber he drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a steady stream from his mouth. That had been awful, but not _entirely_ so. He could work past it. Make the rest of the day good. He _could._ Mark would just have to be careful.

Nodding sternly to himself with a newfound resolve, he grabbed his sweatpants and shimmied them onto his legs. He probably should have stood up to finish the job, but he knew he was in for some pain when he did. Mark put it off by wiggling into the clothing like he had with his boxers. Fully clothed once more, he couldn’t postpone getting up off his ass any longer. Slowly, he shifted his legs to fold up beneath him for more leverage. They ached and throbbed and spasmed in protest but he muscled through the discomfort. He had done this to himself, now he would work past it. Hot chocolate, Jack, and a peaceful spot in the back garden served as fantastic motivators.

With a lot of grunting and a few soft yips whenever he would lose his balance, Mark accomplished the arduous process of getting back on his feet. His legs were still a little wobbly but they cooperated when he moved them forward. They would remain stiff and sore for the rest of the day- perhaps even into tomorrow- but Mark was standing, and no one was going to tell him he couldn’t. The reminder was liberating. He sucked in another breath and was about to leave the bathroom when he hesitated. Like a siren’s song, the mirror hanging on the wall called to him; reaching out with ghostly fingers to coax him back. To make him turn around and witness himself again in its glossy depths. Even clothed, he knew it was a bad idea.

Mark shook off the urge physically and mentally. He clenched his fists, set his jaw and slipped with determination out of the bathroom. ‘ _Jack is waiting.’_ He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When he found the Irishman in the kitchen, happily munching on marshmallows straight from the bag, the gloom clinging to his shoulders from the bathroom evaporated away. His heart set to skipping a few beats in his chest and his entire being appeared to soften around the edges; melting in the presence of such an adorable sight. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you eat all the marshmallows, what are we gonna put in our cocoa?”

“Um…” Jack looked at the bag he was holding, then up at Mark, a little chubby-cheeked from all the marshmallow in his mouth. “More marshmallows?” He offered Mark the bag as he swallowed the lump of sugar and fluff just as the kettle clicked off.

God. Being that cute should be _illegal._ If Mark was allergic, he would probably be dead by now. He really had to contend with this all on his own in the upcoming weeks (or months)? He must be the luckiest man in the world. “Jack, I get that you’re kind of on a sugar crunch right now, but that was a ‘me’ answer you just gave. Think about it for a second.” Mark shook his head but accepted the bag, and maybe popped a marshmallow or two in his mouth. He was a trauma victim, damn it, he was allowed to indulge in a few marshmallows. Though nothing would ever beat those doughnuts he had after first waking up with a clear head.

“Oooh, or chocolate chips! Can you put chocolate chips in hot chocolate?” Jack poured the water into the mugs, just enough to wet the powder, and gave each a stir. Once he had a chocolate slurry, he added the rest of the water, leaving a good inch at the top to stuff with marshmallows. “Don’t chocolate chips not melt or something? They stay solid in cookies…”

“I mean, you _can._ Technically, you can put anything in hot chocolate. But that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be good. Like hot sauce. Who would put hot sauce in cocoa? _Crazy people,_ Jack. Chocolate chips aren’t such a bad idea, but… yeah, they’d just sort of melt. Into more chocolate. Which you wouldn’t mind at all, I bet.” He shook his head again, even as he dug his hand into the bag to grab a fistful of the fluffy sweet goodness. “Baking chips in cookies is a lot different than just dropping them into hot liquid. It might take’em a while, but they’d melt. Just like the marshmallows. Which is why you need to suck’em up right away before they melt into puddles of foam.” Mark gave a nod and spoke as if he was a certified expert in the art of making and drinking hot chocolate. It was a good way to keep himself distracted from the adorable little leprechaun standing in front of him, grinning, with two hands full of steaming hot cocoa. It was like some PG version of a wet dream. Just… all fluff, and no sexy bits. Yeah, because that made sense. (Damn it, Jack, stop making his brain all fuzzy!)

“But like, if you did dark chocolate chips in hot milk chocolate? It’d be like chocolate with chocolate swirls, mmm…” Jack grinned at Mark, offering him a mug. “Or we could be putzes and never try it…” Jack shrugged. “Top us up!” He held the mugs out to Mark with a grin.

Mark blew a breath past his lips in the form of a light raspberry at Jack’s suggestion. “Putzes? Really? Well that’s the _last_ thing I wanna be. We’ll try it next time. But you’ll have to make sure we’ve got the chips. And if it sucks, that’ll be all on you, buddy.” Mark shot Jack a teasing look. He took a moment to tie off the open bag of marshmallows (not that there were many left, Jesus) and set them on the nearby counter before accepting his mug. The warmth of it felt great on his hands and there was nothing like the steaming scent of chocolate to soothe the nerves. Best idea.

Hot chocolate in hand, Jack led the way out back to the garden. He settled beneath the tree, leaning against the trunk of the willow.

The moment they stepped outside, Mark paused to draw in a deep breath through his nose. It smelled like grass and water and that natural, pure sort of scent only a breeze could produce. The sun wasn’t hot and stifling like it could get in the States; more like a warm brush against his cheeks and hands. Birds were still twittering contently in the trees and he could hear the buzz of bumblebees somewhere in the garden. Maybe they had some wildflowers. Mark silently planned to begin tackling the space first thing tomorrow. It would prove to be a great distraction and it was a good idea to be outside after so long cooped up indoors.

Realizing Jack had left him in the dust, Mark hopped forward to join the Irishman beneath a beautiful weeping willow. Half its branches hung over the other side of the fence but a majority of the tree sat comfortably in a corner of their garden. Overgrown grass crunched softly beneath Mark’s bare feet as he walked. It had to be one of the best sensations in the world he never imagined he would _miss._ Reaching up to part the curtain of vine-like branches, he slipped into the protected area resting within their radius. Jack was waiting there for him, leaning against the gnarled trunk, and it was such a peaceful sight he swore his heart just stopped for a few seconds to appreciate the scene. With his green hair, Jack looked to almost blend in perfectly with his surroundings. Like some forest nymph or wood elf taking a break beneath the leaves.

Jack would _kill him_ if he verbalized that comparison so he tucked it away in a special corner of his mind to delve into at a later date. Mark didn’t require an invitation to join Jack where he sat on the grass. He sat, stretched out his legs and wiggled his toes, and leaned back against the tree with a happy sigh. When he lifted the cocoa to his lips for a sip, it was the perfect temperature. Sweet and soft with the addition of the marshmallows; leaving behind traces of chocolate on his upper lip. There was a light breeze stirring the willow’s branches and carding through his hair. He had forgotten to tame it, but a few fingers combed through the mess was good enough. No one was around to see him but Jack. Speaking of...

Jack shifted his mug into one hand, letting his other hand lie on the grass between their bodies, palm up. He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

Mark glanced at the man beside him, belatedly noticing the hand. Were it not laying palm up, he might have jumped to the conclusion Jack had just set it there. Clearly, it was an offer. Jack _always_ set out his hand palm up for Mark to take. Once again, the lines in his face softened as his brown eyes flicked between the ever nonchalant Jack and his hand. Taking a moment to observe the environment once more, breathing deep, Mark decided that yes. Yes, he could take that hand. So he did, letting their palms slide together and slotting his fingers between Jack’s slightly spread ones. He curled his knuckles to give the paler appendage a squeeze. “I love this place.” _'_ _Especially because it has you.'_

“Mm.” Jack hummed his agreement into his hot chocolate, letting Mark hold his hand and get used to the touch before he returned the squeeze, rubbing his thumb over Mark’s knuckle.

Mark took another sip from his mug with a soft sigh. He’d held Jack’s hand so many times in the past month and a half. It had become a comforting mainstay. Leaning his head back against the tree, he let his eyes slip closed. For once, he wasn’t immediately assaulted by images from the room. They were too out of place with his other senses. The birds, the grass and breeze, the smell of tree sap and the taste of cocoa still lingering on his tongue. He had none of that in the room so he reveled in it now. It, and the hand he was busy squeezing in the grass. Humming appreciatively at the calloused thumb rubbing over lightly scarred knuckles, he let the warm mug rest against his chest; tranquil.

“My realtor thought I was crazy when I was willing to buy this place unseen. She made me walk through it before she gave me the papers to sign. I really didn’t care: three rooms and no current maintenance needs were fine by me, but when I saw this garden… I immediately thought of all the goats it could support.” Jack squeezed Mark’s hand again. “I wonder if there are ducks. I bet there are. I wonder if we could feed the ducks from our own back garden. That would be so cool. We could send Felix pictures and tease him about how we’re kings of all the ducks. Make him jealous that he doesn’t have a riverfront house with ducks.”

There was a brief hiccup where Jack mentioned those _fucking goats,_ and Mark opened his mouth to snark back but his hand was squeezed apologetically, and he merely huffed instead; drowning his exasperation in more cocoa and marshmallows. Maybe he _would_ just buy a goat. Without telling Jack. Then they’d see whom was laughing, but ducks were a good substitute for now. Mark even made something akin to a breathy chuckle when Jack brought up Felix. That man and his waterfowl. “You know he’d never stop bitching. He’d insist on paying us a visit just to see the ducks.” Mark wouldn’t mind seeing his other friends again but the breakdowns he’d been experiencing gave him serious pause. It would be a good idea to improve his emotional stability before meeting up with anyone.

Jack rambled, and carried on about all manner of facts to do with Ireland’s natural habitats. Terrifying as swans sounded (really, Jack? really?), the Irishman’s lilting accent was quick to filter into background noise for Mark. A hum of changing tone and rolling syllables that rapidly and mercilessly nudged him towards a doze.

“...hey Mark? Can I try something? You can always say no…”

Mark's mug was beginning to grow loose in his grip when Jack abruptly said his name; startling Mark back into wakefulness with a soft snort. “Huh? Wha? You wan… oh. Uh, yeah. Sure. Okay. What… are you gonna try, exactly??” Mark’s immediate acceptance transitioned to light trepidation as he sat up more. Both of his hands trapped, he awkwardly rubbed at his eyes with the one gripping his mug. He knew Jack wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, but the way Jack phrased the question made him a little nervous. Like Jack knew Mark might not like whatever it was he wanted to attempt.

“Just this.” Jack set his mug aside so he could shift his body, scooting closer to Mark. They still weren’t touching anywhere aside from their entwined hands, but now there was barely an inch or two between their shoulders. Jack picked up his mug again and settled back against the tree. “Baby step,” he told Mark, glancing at the other man before turning his gaze back out to the river. “You can move closer if you want to, or not. Up to you. Or you can tell me to move away.” He sipped at his hot chocolate, the picture of nonchalance.

Mark paused, then quietly lowered the hand holding his mug back to his lap. He observed Jack with a combination of curiosity and interest. Their intertwined hands never separated, and otherwise they didn’t touch before Jack was stopping to scoop up his own mug again. Nothing had really changed beyond the fact Jack’s body heat became more noticeable. There was that phantom sort of tingle that occurred whenever the hairs on a person’s body brushed against something else; tiny little signals that contact was about to be made. The sensation traveled up his arm to the back of his neck then trickled down his spine like droplets from a melting ice cube.

It really was just a baby step, though, going from hand holding to leaning their arms and shoulders together. It wasn’t even a hug, just...more. More of what they were already doing. There was nothing about it to engulf Mark, hold him in place, make him feel trapped or hurt. Jack looked down at his mug and gave it a swirl.

Jack was close. _Very_ close, but not touching. Just sitting there, sipping at his cocoa like nothing had changed. Like nothing was wrong, or out of the ordinary. Mark stared at him- at the gap between them but any anxieties that started to bubble gently in his guts were soothed by another gentle breeze. The rustle of the willow’s branches reached his ears. Sunlight filtered into their little sheltered space to mottle their bodies with light and dark patches. He breathed, and all he smelled was nature... and Jack. A warm, solid presence at his side. Mark closed his eyes again and tilted his head upwards to better feel the sunshine and wind.

Then he leaned, just so, to lightly bump their shoulders together. Biceps and elbows and forearms followed soon after. He pressed into Jack’s side, squeezing his hand, and took a deep breath. He was okay. This was _okay._ They were safe, in this space. _Jack_ was safe and wouldn’t push anything too fast or too far. Mark took in every little detail and sensory signal triggered by the bodily contact and then exhaled all that air shortly from his nose. He lifted the lukewarm cocoa to his lips for a quiet sip. He still had chocolate sticking to his skin. “Baby step.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the lovely fanart for this chapter (and the series in general, thus far) was done by [elktrkbarbarella](http://eltrkbarbarella.tumblr.com/)! A good friend of ours who provided some much needed perspective on the psychology aspect of things.
> 
> Here's a link [directly to the post she made on Tumbler with the fanart](http://eltrkbarbarella.tumblr.com/post/153359963084/baby-step-heres-some-fanart), as per her request. :) Go check it (and her) out!
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	50. 6/1: Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark explores their new garden.

“Baby step?”

Mark surveyed his surroundings in a sort of deja vu moment. He was standing just outside the back door once again. Around him sat the overgrown remnants of what was probably once a beautiful garden. He could still see some of its loveliness, if he squinted. Like that willow Jack and himself had sat under just yesterday and quite a few planted flower beds that happened to be buried under thick weeds. Mark even thought he saw some old rose bushes and ivy along the cottage’s back wall. There was definitely natural flora he could preserve and maintain during the clean up.

However, a majority of it all had to go. Maybe Jack was content with just the interior of their new home but Mark wasn’t having it. Not that he’d done much landscaping back in Los Angeles, but the climate was different here. It was temperate and perfect for the right kinds of plants. Flowers, vegetables, herbs; it was too bad they didn’t have a fruit tree. Besides the weeping willows, there were two tall, strong oaks. From the look of it, a third was growing nearby; still at the sapling stage. Mark cooed. It might have been a tree, but it still counted as something small, cute and precious. Silently, he began making a mental shopping list to give Jack later. Bare hands and elbow grease wouldn’t be enough to fix all this.

A little fence for the sapling, maybe, to make sure nothing disturbed it. Some kind of lawn maintenance equipment; he was still arguing with Jack over the merits of a mower. A tree trimmer for some of the dead and overhanging branches encroaching on the cottage roof. Perhaps some weed killer to prevent them from coming back after Mark ripped them out. Shovel, trowel, gardening gloves, rake, watering can- maybe they could get a hose? Did the cottage have a tap? The old owners _did_ garden…

Mark tromped along the home’s exterior wall in search of a spigot. He worked to start clearing some of the larger weeds as he went. He couldn’t see past them and he might as well get a head start on cleaning up. There were a few odd little plants with big, spiky yellow balls he had to step over; they almost looked like miniature, upside-down pineapples. There were also loads of little blue flowers he did his best not to crush. Everything invasive in the garden wasn’t necessarily a weed. Mark would love to keep all the wildflowers. Like a little patch of forget-me-nots tucked between two of the rose bushes. They winked up at him past vivid green fern leaves and he smiled. “Have to show Jack this. Wonder if he’ll recognize you.”

It was all too easy to slip out his phone and snap a picture. Mark was almost startled by the belated realization, but he quickly calmed. He used to take pictures of things all the time. There was nothing wrong with that. _He_ wasn’t the subject of the camera. So he sent off the picture and continued his search for the spigot. There _had_ to be one back here. Mark ripped up a clump of some plant with long, spiky leaves and gave a shout of triumph. “Aha! There you are. Oh wow, been awhile since anyone put you to use, huh? I’ll have to ask Jack to get something for all that rust…. Probably shouldn’t try turning you on without gloves, at least. Don’t wanna cut myself and get infected. Damn. Still… ground’s wet, must be water dripping out of you somewhere.” Which explained the crazy growth of that plant Mark pulled. He bent low to rip out the rest of it.

“Okay, so spigot found… is that a shed?” Mark craned his neck to peer across the garden at an old structure being consumed by plant life. Instantly, his curiosity was piqued. Maybe it had some gardening equipment. Likely dusty and covered in cobwebs, but it shouldn’t be rusty or unusable. Might as well check it out since it was on their property anyway. He wiggled out from the mixture of rose bushes and weeds to shuffle across the overgrown lawn. As he neared the shed, a grey bunny bolted from a patch of thistle. He watched it squeeze through a gap between two fence boards. “Should probably get that fixed… hammer and nails, on the list.” Jack was going to be _exasperated_ by the time he got the whole thing.

There was an _enormous_ plant growing out from the side of the shed. Were it not for the wood’s faded pastel color (Yellow? Blue? Mark had no idea.) it would have been completely hidden from view. Mark remembered seeing similar plants back in Ohio, but he couldn’t remember the name. Hell, he didn’t know what _most_ of these plants were. He should take some more pictures and look them up later; find out if any were poisonous. “Speak of the Devil- wonder how much of this stuff is hiding around the garden?”

Mark crouched near the door of the shed to frown at a large patch of one plant he _did_ recognize: hemlock. That would have to go, but he’d need the gloves first, just to be safe. He made a mental note and rose back onto his feet. “Is this a door, or a wall of leaves? Holy shit. Okay….” He tore through a bunch of heart-shaped leaves and stomped down some thistle. Those would require gloves too.Eventually, he’d cleared a path to the door. Seconds later had him tossing his head back with an irritated groan. “Ahhhh c’mon!! A padlock? Really??” He grumbled under his breath. Jack probably didn’t have a key for it or he would have mentioned something earlier. They’d need to bust it off.

 _Crowbar_. _Bolt cutters?_ Mark mentally tacked on to the ever-growing list. The hammer could possibly break the lock, but the hinges looked as if they hadn’t budged in a decade. He’d likely need to pry the door open too but now he had his mind set on getting inside the shed, and he would be damned if anything stopped him. “I will unlock your grand mysteries, oh Shed of the River Shannon! Don’t think I won’t! Don’t think you’ve won!!” Mark cried with a few purposefully crazed hand gestures. Somewhere on the other side of the fence a flock of ducks peeled off into the air; startled. “Oops. Sorry!”

Now that their neighbors officially thought he was _crazy,_ Mark figured it was time to get down to serious business. The spigot and shed couldn’t be helped until he got the right tools. Same went for the gaps in the fence. He couldn’t trim the trees or the monster growing next to the shed, but he could get the smaller weeds out and pick up any old trash. He took a quick detour back into the house to get a trash bag (failing to notice the dirt he left behind). Usually, Mark wouldn’t pull weeds without gloves, but he hadn’t noticed anything potentially dangerous besides the hemlock and thistle. Those could wait for later. Instead, he started at one corner of the garden and began working his way along its perimeter.

He found more patches of that odd yellow plant. It smelled faintly like _pineapples,_ of all things, so he took a moment to look it up. “Pineapple weed? O-kay then, Ireland….” Still, it was nice, and they could actually _eat_ the stuff. He left it alone. Mark pulled up what he knew were weeds but would occasionally pause to identify various wildflowers. Blue-eyed grass, brooklime, lady’s smock; all smatterings of tiny blue and purple flowers clustered along the fence. He pulled up a few more clumps of the stuff he found by the spigot. From what he could tell, there wasn’t a _lot_ of hemlock in the garden, but all of it would still need to go.

One section of fence was entirely blocked off by something called “knotweed”. “Tree trimmer. Definitely.” There were large patches of yellow loosestrife and little baby white blooms of wood sorrel. Then Mark found it. While weeding one corner of the garden, he tore up a plant that immediately gave off a familiar scent. “Is that…?” Blinking curiously, Mark brought the leaves closer to sniff at them. “Holy shit, _it is._ Mint! Fuck yes. That’s awesome!” There was an entire patch of it in the corner interwoven with the weeds. Mark did his best to leave it untouched.

Between the two other rose bushes he found more. It smelled a bit different, so he did a quick search on Google to get some answers. “Peppermint, and spearmint. We have _both?_ That’s incredible!! I don’t even _like_ tea all that much but it smells fantastic. I wonder if we could hang some of it around the house….” Feeling a bit silly, Mark crushed up some of the peppermint leaves to get the oils on his hands. He even rubbed them on his neck and into his hair. He hoped it would stick. He wanted Jack to ask why he smelled like a candy cane later.

All the while, Mark took pictures. Of the trees, the grass, the flowers- even the weeds. Always accompanied by a brief exclamation of Mark’s thoughts on the subject. They went from the simple and inane- “IT SMELLS LIKE PINEAPPLES JACK!!!”; “THESE LEAVES ARE BIGGER THAN MY HEAD.”- to venting his emotions- “THISTLES. OW. FUCKING THISTLES.”- to complete and utter nonsense- “PURPLE BAAAABIES.” Jack humored him mostly with question marks or emoticons, but Mark didn’t care. It was almost like vlogging again, in a way. Just through pictures, and it helped the work go by fast.

By the afternoon Mark had reached his starting point. He’d taken a break or two for a drink but otherwise worked nonstop and his body was _definitely_ feeling it. Dr. Agon _probably_ wouldn’t be very happy with him if he found out. So he wouldn’t! Problem solved. Seriously though, Mark might need to skip a day or two of working in the garden to get his energy back. He had to wait for Jack to get all the tools anyway. Plus, the garden already looked _great._ A hundred times better than it had this morning, with two full trash bags as evidence of Mark’s hard work. He swiped some sweat from his forehead and gave a sigh. “I did a good.”

Feeling utterly exhausted, Mark decided to treat himself. He left the tied up bags by the back door and headed inside to get himself some of the ice tea he had Jack buy. The options for brands were a bit more limited in Ireland but Mark didn’t mind. He was just in the mood for tea and wanted it ice cold after a long day spent in the garden. It even came in a convenient can! He snagged a cookie on his way back out. (Tracking more dirt, the floor was a mess, Jack was going to _kill him._ )

Mark didn’t even need to contemplate where he would go. He went straight for the willow and occupied the same seat he’d shared with Jack just yesterday. Intermittent clouds and the swaying of thin willow branches kept the sunlight on his skin mottled. There beneath the cover of leaves he felt cool and safe and protected. It was like a sacred place now. A little haven shared only between Jack and himself. If Mark closed his eyes, he could picture Jack sitting beside him again; could feel how their fingers interlocked and their shoulders touched. A light breeze tickled through his hair.

Something nagged at the back of his brain. Something he’d wanted to try today besides just working in the garden. Being in the garden was supposed to help make that something easier; help to settle his nerves and distract his anxious mind. Idly, he pulled out his phone to thumb through the pictures he’d taken. He smiled at the forget-me-nots. He remembered seeing them in a fanart once. People liked to draw him wearing flower crowns at one point, when they were a big thing. Mark might have even taken a selfie wearing one a fan made for him-

 _Oh._ The selfie. Mark had wanted to try taking a selfie in the garden for his fans. He thought back to his promise to Jack; the lengths his best friend went to in an effort to make Mark more comfortable. To give him confidence. How Jack found him on the bathroom floor yesterday and pulled him back from the brink. His body had hardly improved since then. There were still scars and too pale skin and not even enough bulk, let alone muscle. His hair was long and unkempt from working around the garden all day. There was probably dirt on his face. He would look _nothing_ like the Markiplier they all knew and loved.

Yet inside, he was _happy._ Inside, he was content, and soaking up the sort of pride a person felt after a job well done. He felt utterly relaxed surrounded by nothing but the quiet rustle of leaves, the gush of the River Shannon and endless fresh air. The room was miles and miles away; both physically, and for once from his mind. He silently watched the condensation from his can drip down his crooked fingers. Wise words from his father flitted behind his eyes: _Keep putting something off, and you’ll never get to it._

Mark was still anxious about being on camera, but he could use one now. He’d been snapping pictures all day, and it would be _his_ hand holding the camera. Not someone else’s. Nothing would be recorded without his full consent because _he had to push the button_ and Jack had been right. His fans would be _so happy_ to see Mark, finally, in any form. Anything to deviate from the months of abuse recorded on that damn website. They needed to see he was okay. They needed to know the Mark from that room was gone. Old Mark was gone too, but new Mark was getting better. He was.

He could do this.

Drawing in a deep breath, Mark opened up the camera app again. He debated including the ice tea, but figured it would help him feel less awkward than if he was alone in the shot. Plus, it gave him an idea for a funny caption. Something better than “Hey guys, guess who isn’t dead!” or “Sorry for the wait, as you can see I still look like crap!” Those lines would have been hilarious before he was kidnapped. Now, they were rendered null and just posting a picture wasn’t an option. It _needed_ his voice- in a manner of speaking. Needed words to make it real and authentic and give his community confidence. _They_ needed him. Mark flipped the camera around to get a look at himself on the screen.

_‘There I am.’_

It was… odd, seeing himself. Outside of a mirror, Mark hadn’t looked at any pictures of himself since being released. He’d taken a few peeks at fanart Jack tagged for him but that wasn’t the same. That was someone’s _interpretation._ This was reality. Just like the mirror, but different. Mark hated the exhaustion in his eyes that came from more than just yardwork. He loathed every little scar that could just be seen on his pale face. He wished he could magically remove half the excess hair on his head. He was too white and too thin and too depressing to look at. Would his fans _really_ want to see this?

 _They would._ Mark _knew_ they would. Anything was better than the images from that room. Mark’s heart gave a twang in his chest, but he tried to think of the fans; Jack; his friends and family. How happy they’d all be to see a picture of him, surrounded by nature and sunshine instead of padded walls and blood. He _had_ to do this. It was just one push. One little press of his thumb and it would be done. Mark couldn’t look like a nervous wreck, though. That was the _last_ thing anyone needed to see. So he closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the old bark of the willow tree and tried to clear his mind. He called back those serene feelings from before. It was just him, the plants, the birds twittering up in the trees and Mother Earth herself. No one else. Nothing to hurt him.

Mark’s brown eyes opened, and he looked up at the camera in his hand and _breathed._ The snap was audible. He shrank, but his efforts were a success. He only gave the image a cursory glance to make sure it hadn’t caught him cringing and then he was pasting it into Twitter. Typing up a funny little caption: “So it turns out cold tea in Ireland _isn’t_ blasphemy! Wonder how they feel about harbors.” It was silly, and barely made sense with all the cross-cultural references, but nothing negative could be taken from it. Mark hit the “post” button before he could change his mind and didn’t stick around to see the results. He actually went so far as to turn off his phone and tossed it aside into the grass. Nope. Nuh-uh. He was going to leave it at that and go back to relaxing. Job done. Mission accomplished. Let the pieces fall where they may. Mark entertained himself by combing his brain for other suitable analogies while he watched the clouds roll by through the willow branches. In the back of his mind, he gave a quiet cheer. _‘I did a good.’_

The picture of Markiplier sitting against a tree trunk, holding a can of iced tea and just barely _smiling_ at something the camera couldn’t see rapidly became viral on the Internet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of _research_ I did for this chapter, you guys don't even understand. XD You can ask Fantismal, I went so nutso over Irish flora.... Hopefully my enthusiasm doesn't project on Mark too much and make him OOC. We know he does like nature, and he loves small things. I'm sure he dealt with all kinds of crazy plants back in Ohio (I know I have). I had a lot of fun writing this particular chapter, and I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did. :)
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	51. 6/14: Substitute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gives Mark something special.

“Mark? I’m back!”

Hearing his housemate’s voice was like a blessing; a cool drink after aimless wandering through the desert. Mark was on his feet and padding out to the kitchen in second, resisting the urge to throw himself at the Irishman and merely observing him instead. Green hair tousled, slightly breathless from toting several bags of groceries home and cheeks slightly flushed with the outside chill, Mark took in every last vivid detail of Jack as if he would never have another chance. At one point, he truly believed he wouldn't.

Jack had gone out to do the shopping, and Mark had not suffered a breakdown, thank god. He was getting better at avoiding them. Of course, doing so was always more difficult when he found himself alone in the cabin. Were he not traumatized, scarred and broken he probably would have relished the peaceful tranquility of nature’s surroundings. Back in L.A., it was normal for him to make occasional escapes from the city into the redwood forests or to secluded beaches for some much needed downtime. Now he could scarcely even fathom the idea. The quiet and solitude only seemed to compound upon themselves as he recalled hours upon hours of isolation in his little padded room. He would start to feel trapped- claustrophobic- and would need to let in as much natural light as possible to avoid the flashbacks. He would purposefully seek out the sounds of nature in bird calls and chirping insects to remind himself that no, he was not stuck inside of four walls with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and ragged breathing to break the silence.

With Jack present, it was never too quiet. At the very least, there was the constant shuffle of feet or tap of fingers to fill in the gaps. Jack always had so much trouble with keeping still. He probably would have gone mad in that room- but the room didn't matter anymore, because it was thousands of miles away and Jack was here, with Mark, in their shared cabin.

“...welcome home, Jack. You need any help putting stuff away? I hope you remembered to get enough coffee this time.” His voice was quiet, and rough, because he was still recovering and he _hated_ it but he could speak, and Jack _liked_ hearing him talk, so he did.

A bright grin had exploded across Jack's face when he turned to look at him. God, Mark could never get enough of that grin. Every time he saw it, things just felt… _right._ Like all the things he _knew_ were wrong in the world could be put-off, just for a little while. Jack’s smile had always sort of had that effect on him, but never was it so prominent as it was now. It coaxed out a weak smile of his own, even- frail, but getting better. Just like everything else about him, all thanks to Jack.

“You can do the cupboards, I’ve got the cold stuff.” Jack shoved a large tote Mark’s way, then grinned again as he fished out bags of coffee from one of the totes by his feet. “Look, Mark,” he said, setting one, two, three bags of coffee on the counter, “just because I underestimated your caffeine intake _once_ doesn’t mean I’ll ever make that mistake again. I didn’t realize you were as bad as me for coffee.” Four, five, six. Jack had completely gone overboard on how much coffee they needed. “...I hope it all fits, or we’re going to have to stash it in the closet and then my mum will give me a very sour look when she finds it.” Seven, eight, nine.

Mark accepted the tote with only a quiet sputter of light exasperation and began sorting various groceries into their respective cupboards almost on autopilot. The fact they had been living together for so long that he knew where to put _Jack’s groceries_ should have been more significant, but in his current state of mind he found it hard to care as much as he probably should. Instead, he eyed Jack’s display with a slowly rising brow until the accusation actually summoned the softest of amused snorts from his mouth. It sounded foreign to his ears. “ _My_ caffeine intake?? _Au contraire,_ my good friend, for it is _you,_ the great Irish Coffee Fiend that cleared out our last stock in record time. I might be drinking coffee more than I used to but I’m nowhere _near_ your level of addiction. I think it’s time for an intervention.”

“Everything okay while I was out?”

Smiling just a little bit to himself in a subtle sort of content, Mark gave a soft hum in response to the query. “Nothing to report. The cabin didn’t catch on fire. Frogs didn’t fall from the sky. And no matter what it looks like, I swear there wasn’t a mass werecat invasion while you were gone. I defended the castle with my bare hands. You’re welcome.” In reality, he had only spent about thirty minutes curled up on his bed tamping down on an impending panic attack. That was an improvement.

Jack frowned, then snatched one of the coffee bags back before Mark could put it away. “I’m gonna find someplace to hide this one. For emergencies. Maybe in the shed.”

The humor- actual humor- in his tone made it obvious he was joking, but they both knew exactly why the coffee had run out so fast. Too many sleepless nights; too many hours Mark spent fighting off rest to avoid another cardiac arrest-inducing nightmare; all the evenings Jack would stay up with him until the wee hours of the following morning. Caffeine kept him alert and being alert made him feel safe. He never wanted to be so complacent ever again. “Why do you get to hide the emergency stash? Is it because you can stick it in your pot o’ gold and know I’ll never be able to find it? That’s cheating, Jack.”

“Hey!” Jack protested. “I know _exactly_ how much coffee _I_ need to get by between shopping trips! _Obviously_ , it’s the addition of you that screwed me up!”

Mark rolled his eyes. He was prepared to laugh off Jack’s claims, even as something about the way he phrased it just settled… wrong, with him. He was unable to quite put his finger on it before the Irishman was speaking up again- almost too quickly.

“Hey, I, uh, got you something. I saw it at the store, and it reminded me of you, and so...I just bought it.”

Mark would have been concerned if it was not for the meat of Jack’s words. He felt a little swell of muted joy at the thought of Jack buying him a gift; that something could remind him of Mark and he would be thoughtful enough to spend money on it. For him. He almost felt guilty since Jack had already done so much for him, but at the same time there was no fully overriding the innately _human_ ideal of **presents!!!**

His smile was coming back, faded as it may be, and he inched a bit closer in an effort to sneak a peek as Jack grabbed one of the bags at his feet. “Jack, you didn’t have to get me a…..” Mark’s voice trailed off as a fluffy golden retriever plush toy was revealed. Scratch that. Whatever voice he had left straight up _died_ at the sight of the miniature doggo. His natural inclination towards small, cute things was completely trampled to death by an overwhelming surge of forgotten- or suppressed- despair. His body stilled without him realizing and he stared at the toy with a nearly vacant expression.

“Well, actually, it reminded me of Chica...” There was more, Jack’s lips were still moving, but it was like they were suddenly underwater. Everything else was muffled to his ears that were rapidly filling with static and white noise. Jack gave the stuffed dog a pat before holding it out to Mark with both hands.

No.

_“...recognize this, don’t you, boy? Belonged to a friend of yours. I think you know the one.”_

_No._

_“Real sweet thing. Too bad I had to put her down. Should have heard the noises she was making every time I kicked her in the ribs. Thought she’d break the windows when I cut her open with my knife.”_

**_NO._ **

_“I don’t even think the world knows she’s gone. Hell, I found her all alone in your home, you know. Malnourished and depressed and just_ **_begging_ ** _for attention. I only gave her what she wanted. And no one’s gonna find the pieces.”_

“No.”

“...Mark?”

Mark’s internal mantra was verbal, that time, if soft and strained. He had barely found his voice again as he reached for the dog and took it up in his hands like it was the most fragile, precious object in the world. The faux fur was soft under his fingertips. Beady, black eyes could not hold a candle to the light that had once been in Chica’s. This dog would not bark; would not wag its tail upon seeing Mark’s face or rest its head in his lap during an especially long recording session. This dog was just a toy, and the living version it was meant to replace was dead. Or so he had been told.

It was too much. The connection, the flashbacks, the memories of Chica- sweet, loving, _beautiful_ Chica- all weighed down on his soul in a crushing manner until they squeezed hot liquid from the corners of his eyes. Salty trails that trickled down his cheeks while his previously content expression shattered. It crumpled; caved in on itself as a sob caught up in his throat. Beginning to tremble, he hugged the little stuffed dog to his chest and buried his face in its golden fur. He wished more than anything that it was Chica in its stead, but nothing was going to bring her back.

_“No….”_

“Mark, Mark… Mark…”

Mark could smell coffee. The powerful scent shook him some from his terrors. However, it was not the room specifically or his own personal safety that had led to this particular episode. Mark had no idea why Jack looked so confused. He had gone so far as to get Mark the plush dog, _knowing_ how Mark must have been missing Chica. _Knowing_ what happened to her. He had to. He knew the man had been filming when he told Mark what happened because it had also been the moment he collared Mark. There was no keeping that humiliation a secret when his own personal _rape_ had been on display several times for the world to see.

Yet it was like Jack was ignoring the obvious elephant in the room entirely. Mark could not fathom the reason why. If he had brought it up in the first place then he should have been prepared to handle the consequences. Too bad Mark wasn’t prepared either. His sobbing only escalated as his heart broke further from the triggered memories. He was full-blown shaking now and absolutely soaking the toy with his tears but he needed an anchor. As attractive of an anchor as Jack was, Mark did not think he could touch the Irishman right then. Not without breaking down further.

He was already so far gone. He could not even stand anymore; slowly descending to the floor until he was crouching at what used to be Chica’s level. If he concentrated exceptionally hard, he could almost picture her in his mind’s eye. Sweet, _trusting_ Chica panting adorably and wagging her tail as she waited for Mark to babytalk her, to scratch her behind the ears and tell her she was _such a good girl, Chica-_

_“Such a good boy,_ **_Markimoo_ ** _. Taking your master’s cock-”_

A flurry of hoarse “no’s” were muttered under his breath as he rapidly shook his head in response to the memory. He swore he could still feel the man’s fingers carding through his greasy hair. It repulsed him; made his stomach clench involuntarily but he had nothing in it to lose, thank god. If he threw up in front of Jack again he would just curl up in a corner and _die,_ but the terrors plaguing his mind persisted and he choked a bit on his sniffles, desperately willing away the painful tremors in his chest. “Ch-Chica…..”

At first, Mark had no idea what was drawing his attention from the darkness his mind had created solely for him. There was a muted melody trickling into his consciousness that slowly coaxed him, inch by inch, from the pit of despair he had dug for himself. Like the crook of a beckoning finger, or a familiar smile in the deepest recesses of his mind. Something old and fragile and _treasured_ was being resurrected and it took him far, far too long to give it a name. A place.

A face.

The voice of his mother, gently crooning to him at day’s end after the sun went down and the world became scarier in the shadows. The memories of Chica, of his grueling ordeal, were quietly overtaken by recollections from his childhood. Snuggling down under the covers while his mother sat on his bedside bearing an ever patient, adoring smile for her youngest son. She would tuck him in and stroke his hair, and ask him which one he wanted to hear tonight. They all had names in a foreign tongue he never quite grasped for whatever reason. They were melodies he once knew by heart- and a few, maybe he still did.

This one was not his favorite, but it was well loved all the same. It made the same memories surface and pulled Mark out of one of the darkest places he had been in weeks. He was still upset, still crying and mourning the loss of his ever faithful companion, but he was no longer on the verge of a complete and utter meltdown; of throwing himself to the floor in a broken puddle for what could have been _hours._ Drawing shaky breaths and still trembling, he lifted his head up just enough to peek over the matted fur of the now wet dog plush being cradled in his arms like a life preserver.

He should have been surprised it was Jack, but he wasn’t. After nights filled with humorous renditions to draw out a laugh and lilting Irish lullabies to help him sleep, discovering Jack singing an old Korean lullaby was just another little blessing he probably did not deserve. He had forgotten Jack could even speak the damn language. Where had he learned a _lullaby,_ of all things? Sniffling and giving a little hiccup, he blinked through more tears and finally, _finally_ pulled away from the toy enough to scrub at his face. He was still upset. Chica deserved his mourning. She had not even gotten a proper burial, so far as he knew. He could at least give her memory this much.

Jack sang the song all the way through, then subtly sagged a little. Mark took it as his cue to pick his own voice back up from the depths of his despair. “....I j-just…. I just m-miss her… s-so much…… a-and… and I’m never…. N-never g-going to see her again…. B-because of what _he_ did to her…. It’s not fair…. I-it’s not fair, Jack, it’s not… she… she didn’t do _anything…._ It’s all my f-fault….”

“Who do you miss?” Jack asked quietly. “Chica? Are you...are you talking about Chica?”

Mark still did not get it, why Jack refused to connect the dots. He nodded just the same, even as he continued to snuffle pathetically and scrub at his sticky face. Now the initial shock and downward spiral had been worked through, he felt a little better but still ached for his loss. He was certain it would never really go away. Maybe, when he was fully recovered, he could hold a ceremony for Chica. Just something to lay her to rest…

“Fucking hell...Mark, did he tell you she’s dead?”

Jack’s next question, rife with disbelief, was like a splash of ice cold water to the face. Mark made a choking sound again and clutched lightly at his stomach. The connotations of the question hit him immediately but he bulldozed right through them without hesitation because he knew what he heard. He remembered the collar. He believed his kidnapper knew his personal address and was not above murdering an innocent dog. Why would he make up a story when he had no qualms committing the actual deed? He shook his head.

“H-he said… said he tore her to pieces, said… th-that he beat her, before he got out his knife and that she… she just… she layed there, and took it, because she was st-starving and weak and lonely a-and…. And he hurt her, he hurt her _so bad_ and no one even knew, n-no one could find her body ‘cause of what he did to her, and… and she didn’t deserve it, Jack. Sh-she didn’t deserve any of it, he only attacked her to get to me, to beat me down, and it’s… she’s….” His voice broke along with the metaphorical dam and fresh tears were spilling down his cheeks as his lips trembled. It was all too easy to picture the grisly events in his mind’s eye and he hated himself for it. “You _heard him,_ Jack! E-everyone did! I know that video was on the site- I know he was going to upload it, because he _told me._ He _told me_ he w-was going to show the world wh-what… what I really was, and…. Oh, God, Chica…..”

Jack was shaking his head before Mark had even finished speaking, pressing his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide and horrified. “There was no audio, Mark, he never put any audio on the videos, and we never saw him talking, just your reactions...Mark, _Chica’s not dead_. She’s not even hurt! Tyler went to your house, like, the very next day, and her collar was missing but otherwise, she was fine. You...had some extra holes in your walls, but _she_ wasn’t hurt. And he took her back to his place...I’m sorry, that’s what I meant when I said he was taking care of everything for you, she’s been staying with him. She misses you, she… wait, wait, I have a picture…” Jack fumbled in his pocket, hands shaking.

“...he… he what??” Mark’s voice was a harsh whisper in the tense atmosphere of the kitchen. He almost got that vacant expression again, but there were flickers of life still in his brown eyes. He was simply trying desperately to grasp the information that had just been given to him. Firstly, that the videos were without audio. He had no idea. After all, it was hardly as if he had gone onto the website once being returned to civilization to see the evidence for himself. He had _lived_ through it. That was enough.

To know hours of his recorded anguish for his captors’ personal pleasure had been posted as silent windows into his torment almost left him… deflated. He should be relieved. No audio meant possibly even a shred of his dignity had been saved on several occasions but at the same time, part of him _wanted_ the world to know what those men had done to him; what they had said to him. The ways in which they had torn Mark down to little more than nothing in a manner of months beyond physical abuse.

They didn’t know any of it. _Jack_ didn’t know any of it. Some of the things he'd said he thought were known from the videos…. Color drained from his face while his heart palpitated in his chest. There was _so much_ they didn’t know. Should he tell Jack? _Could_ he tell Jack? No. No, not now. Not when there’s was something far more important to focus on. _Someone_ more important.

“She… she’s alive?? She is? You’re not… just saying that, to make me feel better, are you? B-because… that’d be a shitty thing to do, Jack, c’mon…. Don’t lie to me-”

“You know me better than that,” Jack said as his fumbling transferred to his phone screen. “I don’t like lying. And I’d never lie about this. About her. You know I love your fluffernutter.” It took a few agonizing moments, but eventually Jack must have found whatever it was he’d been looking for. “Mark, look, she’s _fine_ , I swear she is, he’s taking care of her…”

Mark had been in the middle of near hysteria with his words, unable to believe he had been lied to all those months, when the phone screen was shoved abruptly into his face. He flinched and would have scrambled back had his eyes not registered the image on the screen. Maybe it was rude to just snatch Jack’s phone out of his hand, but he could not stop himself. He _needed_ a closer look. He needed to see with his own eyes that she was okay.

Chica was missing her collar, the collar that was still around his neck when Jack found him weeks ago, but alive and looking healthy- if a little sad. She was curled up by what he recognized to be Tyler’s front door, half-burrowed into a familiar sweatshirt. He recognized it as his uni one and his heart broke again- maybe in a good way. Chica clearly missed him after such a prolonged absence, but she wasn’t injured or starving or scared. Tyler was taking good care of her. She just wanted her daddy back.

“Check the date, read the conversation. It’s recent. Tyler’s talked about her since then.”

“Chica….” There was a soft tenderness in Mark’s voice; all strain having left it at last. He continued to cradle the plush in the crook of his arm as he lifted his free hand to brush the tips of his fingers over the image of Chica's shiny coat. His breath hitched painfully. “...she’s alive….” His lips twitched, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he started to quiver again but instead of a tortured grimace, his mouth was pulling into a smile that exuded relief. His eyes were burning with the risk of more tears but he held them back as he pressed the phone to his forehead. So what if he looked stupid? Chica was _alive._ She was alive, and healthy, and missing him. God bless Tyler. He seriously owed him one once he got back to the States, and Jack….

“Jack…. _Jack,_ I… thank you… I’m sorry…. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, I-I just…. The way he told me, it sounded so _real._ Like he had just done it, a-and that’s why he had the collar, and…. I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t lie. I’m just… so _happy_ she’s okay.” Mark’s voice cracked but there was no doubt about the cause or emotion expressed anymore. That was pure relief and happiness in his tone. Something it had been lacking since being freed from captivity, but seeing his precious pup alive and well unlocked something he had been keeping down in the wake of his trauma. It let him feel, _truly_ feel, for the first time in ages after he had purposefully and reflexively numbed himself in an effort to _survive._

He did take a moment to flip through a few snippets of conversation, just to read for sure that Chica was doing all right. Reassured and satisfied with what he found, he exited out of Skype so as not to further invade Jack’s privacy. Mark swiped warm tears from his face for a moment before extending the device to Jack- only to realize with slight shock his housemate was _crying._ Initially, he panicked a little, because he had said _so many things-_ what if one of them had hit a nerve? What if he had actually upset Jack while caught up in his own emotional bullshit?

“Oh god, Mark,” Jack whispered, sniffling as he wrapped his arms around himself. “I’ve _missed_ you…”

Jack wasn’t sobbing. He didn’t even look particularly _upset._ He was just crying, and hugging himself tightly as he blubbered in his adorable accent. _Fuck._ If the picture of Chica had made Mark’s heart ache with longing, then the sight before him set it to thrumming like a hummingbird in his chest. He felt affection flood into his breast and limbs as he fully comprehended the Irishman’s whisper. ‘ _I’ve_ ** _missed_** _you….’_ Mark really had not been himself, since coming back. No one would blame him for that but it was a fact. The last time he had even properly _smiled_ was the night of his kidnapping. That was nearly four months without his usual cheer and personality. He tried to imagine Jack in such a way; lacking his endless energy and optimism. It was wrong. It made him want to cringe.

Jack had been dealing with that all this time.

“Jack… Sean….” Mark was unsure if Jack was okay with him utilizing his real name but he felt it was necessary, in the moment. To try and get his attention.

Jack laughed, dragging his sleeve over his hand and dabbing at his face. “Sorry, I’m just, it’s been…” He huffed and looked up at the ceiling.

Fingers twitching momentarily at his sides with hesitation, Mark managed to make up his mind and set the phone down. Not the plush, though. That was staying. Hopefully Jack would not mind sharing the tight- if slightly tense- hug Mark bestowed upon him in a fit of overwhelming gratitude and comfort. It was a little awkward because part of him _really_ was not happy about the contact, but he kicked that tiny voice to the curb and dug his fingertips into the back of Jack’s shirt. His voice, when he spoke, was so fraught with emotion it almost managed to reach his usual pitch.

Jack squeaked, tense in his arms. “Mark…”

“It’s okay, Jack… I’m here….”

Jack folded onto Mark’s broad shoulder with a sob, his arms curling around Mark’s back. “Tell me when you need me to let go,” he gasped out, returning Mark’s clutching grasp.

Mark had forgotten just how _good_ hugs could feel. Of course, he had _always_ loved giving and receiving hugs. He was just a very affectionate, lovable kind of guy. His months spent being tortured and brutalized in captivity had sent those aspects of his personality deep underground. Letting them surface in that environment always either resulted in further abuse or having them turned against him; thrown back in his face as proof of this or that. He stopped feeling them, eventually, and then when he got out he supposed he just… forgot how to get them back. Forgot how to experience physical affection without immediately attributing it to negative connotations and ulterior motives.

Hugging Jack was like a soothing balm on those fears. It had always been said by the fans Jack gave _the best hugs._ Mark concurred with those claims. Even before getting kidnapped, he never passed up a chance to swing an arm or two around the Irishman. How could he let his tormentors make him forget something so precious? He kind of wanted to kick himself, but he supposed he had gotten enough kicks for a lifetime. Right then, Jack needed him.

That was another thing. Mark had been so busy dealing with his own traumatic bullshit and anxiety he failed to see just how hard Jack was trying to stay strong for him. Of course he would. Mark was a victim. If Jack broke down, it would seem wrong and selfish. Mark would definitely feel that way, were their positions reversed. He should have known Jack was just bottling it all up. The tears soaking into his shirt very nearly broke his heart all over again.

Through it all, Jack was still considering his needs. Mark sniffled, and his bottom lip wobbled, but he refused to cry anymore. It was Jack’s turn for a bit. He needed to let it all out. Besides, now touch had been established, it was easier to get over his paranoia. He could hold Jack while the lankier man cried into his shoulder and clung to his clothes. Mark even had the presence of mind to rub at his back a little bit. Not as good as his hugs used to be, but hey, it was progress. Hopefully it would not take another month to hug Jack again. For now, he had to do something to make things right. It was good for Jack to cry, but Mark wanted to see him smile. That would make everything perfect; seeing Jack grin, or hearing his laugh. Luckily, his housemate unknowingly gave him the easiest opening known to mankind. Tilting his head just so, he whispered into Jack’s ear: “I’ll never let go, Jack.”

“...did you just quote _Titanic_ at me?” Jack asked. The incredulity didn’t last long. Soon Jack was giggling into Mark’s neck, his arms squeezing tighter. “Oh god. You dork. I love you.”

“There we go….” That was the Jack he wanted and loved to hear. Must be what Jack had been feeling like all this time. Silently, Mark vowed he would try _extra hard_ to smile a bit more for his housemate. _Really_ smile. Not just make a shaky attempt and hope for the best. It was the least he could do.

Affection and the sort of warmth brought upon by close friendship was still curling through Mark’s body as Jack squeezed him around the middle. It felt blissfully _real_ and _present._ That bubbly laugh had not lost its contagious quality during his absence and he soon found himself joining in with an almost inaudible chuckle or two of his own. Were it not for the fact both their faces were sticky from crying and they were sitting on the floor of Jack’s kitchen, it could have been just like old times. They had certainly cracked worse jokes in the past, but what mattered in the end was some of the tension had been broken. Jack was still crying, but he was no longer sobbing.

“You left me no choice. We had to abandon ship.” Mark huffed a bit and tentatively hooked his chin over Jack’s shoulder. “You big dummy. All this time you were doing your best to stay strong for me, but who was staying strong for you? I should’ve known you were hurting too. Even if it wasn’t in exactly the same way. I’m sorry….”

“I’m pretty sure Felix is sick of my voice,” Jack mumbled.

Knowing Jack would want to voice his protests, Mark was quick to continue in a tone that could almost be considered light-hearted. “Now shut up and get on my debris raft, Irish DiCaprio.”

Jack shook his head against Mark’s shoulder. “Can’t. I’m being held on to too... _Irish DiCaprio_?” A soft snort was muffled by his shirt. “Oh, Mark, if you think I’m Ireland’s answer to Leonardo, you haven’t seen nearly enough of this country.”

Mark almost asked what Jack had meant about Felix, but the response to his sly comment shifted his attentions. The corners of his mouth were still stubbornly twitching upwards- not that Jack could see from his current angle. “I’ve seen enough. I’ve seen _you._ ” Okay, maybe a little bit cheesy, but it was true. If Jack and that cabin were the most Mark ever got to see out of Ireland, he would be satisfied. Still, that was a little awkward to say, so he decided to press forward before he made Jack uncomfortable.

“...I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just broke like that, you shouldn’t have to deal with me on top of everything, but...but thank you.”

Scratch that. Jack spoke first, but that wasn’t all. There were fingers ghosting up his spine and they picked up the awkward turtle right where he had dropped it; punting the poor thing over the line. Goosebumps followed Jack’s fingertips and his back arched on reflex as he swallowed. Okay. It was fine. He was fine. Jack was just moving his hand, that was all. Nothing to worry abou _thatwashishair_. Fuck. Abort mission. Retreat. Literally abandon ship this time. There were fingers in his hair, cupping the back of his head, and an abrupt spike of nausea roiled in his stomach as he drew in a tiny, tight breath. _Fuck._

Jack, Jack, Jack- it was _Jack,_ he needed to calm down, he was going to ruin the moment. Whatever kind of moment they were even having. Mark angrily blocked the memories trying to surface of fingers carding through his hair, gripping his hair, cupping at his head to redirect it, his face, his mouth- _n o p e._

He barely registered the touch of something else to his hair before he was rapidly adjusting his hold on Jack. He placed his hands on bony shoulders and pulled away several inches. Mark's head ducked to the side of its own accord, and his gaze dropped to the floor. He tried not to let his stupid discomfort be too known on his face but he had always been too expressive. Mark drew in another shaky breath and patted tersely at Jack’s shoulders as the dog plush plopped innocently into his own lap.

“It’s… it’s not _dealing with you,_ that’d be like saying _you’re_ dealing with _me._ ” Mark tried to pick the conversation back up as if nothing had happened at all; anything to take his mind off the memories. Jack _was_ dealing with Mark right now- Mark’s stupid paranoia- but Mark never claimed to not be a hypocrite. At least not seriously. “It’s okay to break, sometimes. It’s good for you. And… and I want to help. I do. I don’t want you burying all your pain away. Okay? We can lean on each other. We can. I might need a little more support sometimes but I can be there for you, too. Promise.” He cleared his throat a bit, still not feeling… quite right, after the sensation of fingers in his hair. He patted Jack’s shoulders again, too stiffly, and worked to shift further away. Time for a little space.

“ _You’re_ dealing with you,” Jack pointed out. “Mark, you’ve got so much crap...I can’t even begin to _imagine_ how you feel right now. Like the Chica thing...I didn’t even realize…” He twisted his fingers together, ducking his head. “I’m not alone here, Mark. My family’s not that far away, and I talk with Felix all the time, and...I’ve got supports. I just…”

Mark’s efforts to keep smiling for Jack slipped away as the conversation continued on the serious route he had turned them down, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to be there for Jack. Even before Jack did so much to help him out after everything, that was all he had ever wanted to do: help people. Make them happy. Those desires were still standing, they were just harder to achieve now in the wake of all his loss. Yet, Jack had proven there were spots of sunshine if he only looked hard enough. Surely he could do the same for Jack.

“You didn’t know…. You didn’t, and now you’ve told me. I’m so fucking happy about Chica, Jack, you have no idea…. And you did that for me. Maybe you’ve got support systems a little closer to home. That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. But none of them are _here_ right now. None of them are _living with you._ A phone or Skype call isn’t the same as face-to-face….” Mark knew that for a fact. Chatting with his family and friends via FaceTime or Skype was nowhere near satisfying enough. Seeing Chica through a screen would not hold a candle to the dog’s physical presence. Maybe he was no longer as strong as Jack’s family, or Felix, but he was still there. He could still _do_ something.

“I’ll…” Jack ran a hand through his green hair, looking away from Mark. “I really don’t want to make things worse for you, Mark. I don’t want to make you feel bad. I mean, I know I _do_ , but...I really don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

Neither of them were looking at each other. Both of them felt awkward, tense, nervous. Guilty. They had laid out more of their personal feelings on the table than ever before and Mark knew it had helped them in ways they might not comprehend immediately, but they had not been able to dispel everything. There was more Mark had yet to tell, and more Jack refused to let him give. It would be frustrating, if he could find it within himself to feel that emotion towards his housemate. Instead, he felt like they both were just left a little bit empty. It was a sour taste in his mouth and he desperately racked his brain for some kind of distraction. Anything to stop this stubborn loop of a conflict he had triggered between them.

“...why is there a bag of coffee half-spilled all over the floor?”

“Huh?” Jack looked around, blushing a little at the mess on the floor. “Oh, um...it was an emergency?” He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and then running his fingers through his hair again. The action only made the overgrown tufts of faded green a bigger mess. “I didn’t want to touch you, and you weren’t hearing me,” he said, explaining his reasoning. “I figured…coffee was a positive smell that wouldn’t have been part of whatever was triggering you. Also, I was holding it already.” Jack glanced over at Mark.

“You tried using the enticing smell of ground up Java to break through my funk?” The astonishment in Mark’s words was clear as day, but there was a hint of awed amusement there as well. Coffee. Who thought of that? Of course it would be Jack. The Irishman might as well have the stuff flowing through his veins and Mark living under the same roof as him had only served to increase his own personal consumption of the hot beverage. It was all Jack’s fault.

“I have no idea why it spilled. _I_ didn’t do that…”

Sighing out something fringing on a laugh, Mark mimicked his housemate and ran fingers through his hair. It, too, was a mess; overgrown and lacking its usual color. Mark missed it, and was really getting sick of it constantly hanging in his face. Looking at Jack, with his adorable floof of faded green, he figured they could both use a haircut. It'd certainly make for a better topic change. “Well, at least you tried. No use crying over spilled coffee. One of us probably just knocked it over and didn't realize. Luckily we have about a dozen more bags.” Mark combed fingers through his poofy fringe once more in a vain effort to scrape it back by his ear. It flopped, and he let out a huff.

“If we had a goat, it could clean up the coffee for us.”

“Now you want it _in the house?_ ” Mark exaggerated his astonishment a bit because he _knew_ Jack was enjoying himself. “In other news: we need to do some serious landscaping. And I don't mean the garden this time. Unless you still wanted to get that goat to trim _your_ lawn.” The faintly teasing tone had returned as Mark reached out, prodding at Jack’s floof. Cute.

“Oh god, if _you’re_ noticing my hair, then I _definitely_ need to get it taken care of.” Jack tugged at the green tips and then blew upwards to make it flutter off his face. “Seems like half my comments are all about the hair these days. People are suggesting I braid it, or do a man-bun...it’s not long enough for a man-bun. _Yours_ , maybe…" Jack eyed Mark’s hair speculatively, then eyed Mark himself as Mark decided to voice his own opinion on the matter.

“I think you should do a manbun-braid. Do your little knot on top then braid the excess in the back like some Grecian princess. And dye half of it green. But only half.” God, if Jack _actually_ did that Mark didn't think he'd be able to live with him. He'd kill his lungs from laughing all the time. At least he didn't have to deal with the online comments- much. The latest images he'd put up did have a few people starting to comment and ask when he was going to dye it again. Or if he was going to keep growing it out.

Jack twisted a finger in his hair, twirling it into a little bun on top of his head. "Nah, not long enough for even _one_ of those. And if I let it grow any longer, I'll be eating it in my sleep. Jesus, it's a mess." He sighed, letting his hand drop.

“I'll pass on the manbun myself. It'd ruin my street cred.” Mark joked, but he took Jack’s suggestions seriously. He needed a trim, at least, or he was going to go crazy and take a pair of lawn shears to the mess of floof himself. He could probably hold off on the dye just fine. He'd had dark hair for ages before the dyeing spree.

“...do you want to try? Not the man-bun, though we could try that too. Getting it cut properly. I think...the lady who does my green is really sweet. If I asked her to do a house call for you, she might. I mean, she wouldn’t be able to dye you again, if that’s what you wanted, but maybe it would be easier to handle if we were here? Or...or would the salon actually be easier, with all its noise and smells?” Jack rubbed his hand over his bicep. “Obviously, I’d be there with you whichever route you choose.”

"What, is it cookie scented or something?" That joke was easier for Mark to make. It helped to lighten the tension in the atmosphere between them. Warmed by Jack's efforts, Mark pondered for a moment. Money was obviously a good incentive to make a house call, but she already probably got plenty of that. Jack alone was likely a miniature goldmine for her. He needed something else. Something that universally drew people. Jack brought up another good question. Would it be easier for him in the salon, or in their home? The salon did host a plethora of distractions and it was about as far from the room as a location could get. At the same time, it was open; exposed. Full of people and requiring Mark to venture out into the world. Which would be good for him, but could also induce several panic attacks. What if he had one in the salon? What if someone recognized them and filmed it all?

The thought made his insides clench and he curled up a little bit as if to shield himself from a purely imagined scenario. Mark shook his head. “I don't… don't think the salon is a good idea. Right now. Maybe next time…. I can go without hair dye for a while. I just want it cut. If… this friend of yours, could come and do it…. It would be a lifesaver. I think if you were there, here, with me… I could get through it.” Even if the thought of a complete stranger going anywhere near his hair made him want to start hyperventilating again.

"I can't promise anything for her, but I'll set up an appointment for myself and I'll ask. I'll even give her my very best smile and bat my eyes and compliment her skills with scissors just to butter her up for you."

Then it hit Mark. "...does she like dumplings?"

Jack perked up. "You'll make dumplings? Doesn't matter if she does or not. She _will_. I'll convince her. She comes over for dinner and gives you a haircut. You'll get a chance to meet her before she gets her hands on you. She gets to meet Markiplier. I get dumplings. Everybody wins."

Mark blinked. He knew Jack liked his dumplings ( _everyone_ liked his mother's dumplings) but hadn't thought he would get _that_ excited over them. Sure, it had been a while, but they were just dumplings. (Amazing dumplings. Okay, maybe he understood.) His expression gained a hint of sheepishness as he fiddled with his collar. "Well, I might need to practice some more in the kitchen first.... But yeah. I don't think it'd be too much of an issue. Just need to get the ingredients." And deal with the knife, but he was getting better. He huffed out that almost-laugh again and gave his head a little shake of amusement. "Sounds good, but just remember to save some for _her_. And me. It's about time I got some of _my_ mom's home cooking." Not that Jack's mom was a bad cook or anything but _Christ_ , all the lamb and potatoes. How did Jack do it?

"Just get me a list, and I'll take a special shopping trip just for you." Jack grinned at Mark. "I'll be nice and share, since we're trying to butter her up. This time. You just make sure you make enough for all of us."

"Jesus. Looks like you'll have to buy in bulk, then. Better be ready to lug all those bags back. Work for your food, Jack. Break the stigma of the Irish string bean."

"Hey, I'm skinny but I'm strong! Don't underestimate these Irish muscles!" Jack flexed for Mark, making an exaggerated show of faux strength.

"Oh my, such muscles. Very beauty. Much stronk. Swon." Mark pretended to swoon dramatically, but he was smiling. Dorks, the both of them.

Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark, scrunching up his nose a bit. "Told ya the Irish sexiness is overwhelming..."

"Oh yeah. Totally overwhelmed right now. You should change your intro. Something like..." Mark cleared his throat and put on an absolutely horrendous rendition of Jack's louder, higher pitch. "TOP O' THE MORNIN' TA YE LADDIES, MY NAME IS JACKSEXYEYE AND TODAY WE'RE JUST GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW FOOKIN' RIPPED I AM!!! JOOST LOOK AT THESE PLUS ONE HUNDRED PECS." Then Mark flexed, and though he was still recovering all his muscle it was an impressive sight to behold with the stretch of his broad chest and shoulders.

He even winked.

"Biceps," Jack countered. "It's plus one _biceps_. You're the one with the pecs."

"It's okay Jackaboy. You'll get there someday. Just keep eating your vegetables. Maybe someday you'll have pecs people can play like bongos too." Mark was enjoying showing off and joking around. Jack playing along actually made him feel a little better about his body. In his eyes, it was still deteriorated. "But maybe we should get off the floor. Y'know, before our butts go numb?"

"Not all of us can be blessed with phenomenal genes like you, Fischbach," Jack protested.

Mark primped himself at that, and it was something he hadn't done since the convention. It felt good to joke around with his old vanity again. "What can I say? German and Korean must be the magical perfect combination."

"Seriously. You and your brother are both unfairly genetically superior to the rest of us mortals." Jack grumbled.

Mark snorted. "Don't tell Thomas that. I might preen, but he just gets flustered. You should've seen what happened the last time someone came up to his booth and shot him a pick up line about his looks. I thought I was gonna become an only child." Thankfully, the sadness had shifted to fondness in Mark's voice and expression. He missed his family. Even if his overbearing moms slightly terrified him at the moment, Thomas would have been a welcomed sight for sore eyes. Mark could deal. He could.

"I'm totally going to tell him he's hot next time he calls," Jack said with an evil grin. "How does he feel about guys hitting on him?"

"Jack no, please, I love my brother very much and would like to keep him in a solid state of being." Mark smiled. "Well he's not into guys, but he doesn't have a problem with that sort of thing. He just gets even more flustered because then he has to awkwardly tell them he's not gay. It's hilarious. I saw a dude honestly take extreme pity once and just sort of run off after giving a shitty excuse. I didn't let Tom live it down for _days_ afterwards." As the younger sibling, it was his mission in life to annoy the ever-loving shit out of his brother. Jack could surely relate.

"Aww, not even to tease?" Jack asked, pouting at Mark. "I mean, it's not like I'm _actually_ into him. He's just been trying to be all big brother on me too, so I figured some double-teaming little brother payback was only fair..."

Mark actually laughed at that again. It was too spontaneous to stop. "Sounds like Tom. It's not like he goes around taking every younger guy under his wing or something but if he cares about you and you're not older than him, watch out. Big brother mode." There was nothing but affection in Mark's voice though. "I guess a little teasing couldn't hurt. He's been free of mine for so long now. Time to remind him about just how annoying we younger sibs can be."

"Totally doing that next time you give him a call. Let me know, and I'll just happen to pass through the room and comment on his looks..." Jack chuckled too.

"You'd better be prepared for sputtering that's on par to an old car with a bad exhaust and extreme pitch fluctuation." They were both terrible. Thomas deserved better, but they were all he was going to get and Mark knew he'd always love him anyway.

"I look forward to it." Jack's grin was pure baby brother evil.

He hopped to his feet, though, and offered Mark his hands. "I'll get a broom and clean up the coffee. Think you can put away the rest of the groceries with the help of Chica Junior?"

Mark looked at Jack's hands for a moment, but accepted the offer, letting himself be half-heaved up onto his feet. The little plush almost tumbled to the floor but he flailed and managed to catch it at the last second. He immediately cradled it close even though he now had the knowledge Chica was alive. The quirk to his lips was more bittersweet this time, but still sweet nonetheless. "Yeah. Chica loves putting away groceries." Mainly because she knew Mark would be weak and give her a treat or two from the bags he had just brought home. There was sadness in his voice, but he just hugged the dog plush for a moment before moving to the bags. Chica was alive. That was enough. (No it wasn't, it wasn't, but he'd make it enough.)

"Maybe we can give Tyler a call," Jack suggested, coming back in with the broom and dropping the dustpan by the spilled coffee. "Have him put her on? I bet she'd love to hear your voice again."

At least Jack's offer set Mark’s giddiness to returning. He looked over with wide, eager eyes and the beginnings of an excited grin. It never fully formed, but it could be heard clear as day in his tone. "Really?? Yes! Definitely. As soon as possible. I'd give my left leg, right now, to see my little Chica-bica again."

Jack laughed, setting a foot on the dustpan to hold it in place as he brushed the pile of spilled beans into it. "How about you hold onto your left leg and give Tyler a text, see if he’s awake yet?"

"All right. I'll hang on to all my limbs but only for you." Mark hugged Chica Junior to his chest with one hand and texted his friend with the other. "What time is it even over there?? I've been in Ireland too long. I'm losing my sense of Pacific."

"Subtract eight hours," Jack answered without hesitation. "So, since it's three now, that puts them at...seven am."

Mark stuck his tongue out. "Seven am. He’s probably still passed out from late night gaming." He sighed forlornly. "Guess it'll have to wait for a few hours at least.... Damn his fucked up sleeping schedule."

Jack bent down to pick up the dustpan. "You could just call him and screw up his schedule. It's for Chica. Who could say no to her face?"

"Tyler sleeps like the dead. I never had to worry about being too loud if it was late or early in the morning. I doubt his phone would wake him up- if he even has the ringer on."

"We'll just have to yell at him for being so inconsiderate of our time zone when he eventually wakes up."

"It's all right. If Chica's been staying with him, she's probably been giving him Hell for me. Especially since I've been gone. Chewed up furniture and floor poops for days."

"See, that's a good thing! You haven't had to clean up dog shit in months. Progress!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, lookit that, two things finally addressed that you guys have been flooding the comments with for weeks now!
> 
> The boys hugged, and the mystery about Chica has been resolved. :') All sunshine and rainbows and happy fun times, eh? Let's see how long that lasts. BD
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	52. 6/14: Nothing's Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark wishes he never bothered trying to go to bed.

Like so many nights before, Mark’s rest was broken by a nightmare and the sound of his own screams. He almost ripped off the collar around his throat, but he was too panicked and had to stop before he strangled himself with it. Mark forced himself to take deep breaths and reached for his glasses instead. He was getting better at calming down once he was awake, but that didn’t leave him any less exhausted. Any less fatigued on a physical, mental _and_ emotional level. His nightmares, no matter the content or severity, never failed to check _all_ the boxes.

He tried not to think of the images his subconscious had conjured up. He got to his feet and set to pacing so the sound of his footsteps would drown out the ones still echoing in his head. Mark was lost in his concentration,  but it didn’t take long for heavy footsteps and creaking floorboards to bring him back. The distant, muffled sound of ceramic clinking against wood and the rattle of silver washed over him in its own kind of nonsensical lullaby. Slowly, some of the tension in Mark’s shoulders sagged away. He found his body sitting down on the edge of his bed all on its own so he could better tune in to the sounds of Jack in the kitchen. Mark scrubbed the goosebumps from his arms and waited.

It wasn’t too long before he heard the familiar knock. “Mark? You awake?”

“Unfortunately….”

The reply was hoarse and quiet, but Mark decided he didn’t sound like he was a hysterical mess. Once or twice, he’d been unable to reel his emotions back in and Jack had to help but a majority of nights, like now, he realized what he had just experienced was a nightmare. He was comfortable enough with his bedroom and the house that so long as he retrieved his glasses and remembered his breathing, he would be fine. Then Jack would stomp noisily down the hallway and bang just about every pot they had in the kitchen. It was kind of humorous, when Mark had a clear head, but it was effective and he loved Jack for the thought so he never brought it up.

Mark combed fingers through his hair but only really succeeded in making the unruly mess even worse. He blew a few stray strands out of his face and fiddled with the bracelet Jack had given him weeks ago. Initially, he had taken the bracelet off before bed. However, after realizing he never took off the collar, he decided Jack’s attempt to help deserved the same treatment. Now, he was grateful. When Mark woke from his most recent nightmare, the collar was the _last_ thing he wanted to put his hands on. He still wore it now, but for once it lacked any of his attentions.

“I’m just giving you a heads up, if I trip over the mugs again in the morning I’m putting them in your bed.”

Jack opened the door and entered, shaking his head slightly. “You mean you’re gonna make me go _all the way back to the kitchen_? After getting us both nice and sleepy? Just don’t walk so close to the wall, and you’ll be fine!”

“The kitchen isn’t _that_ far away, you big baby. You walk back to your bed, don’t you? _Fine._ I’ll just trip and break my neck then. Bet that counts as like, premeditated murder or something.” Mark gave Jack’s teasing drama right back to him, but was relieved from the moment the Irishman entered the room. Some more of the tension eased out of his shoulders and he stopped fidgeting with Jack’s bracelet. He had the full version right there in front of him,  _w_ _ith_ tea, which Mark had grown a bit fond of. Well, only late at night, and he’d _never_ admit it to Jack.

Jack sat on the edge of Mark’s bed, like usual, and offered him one of the mugs. This one was a jack-o-lantern. Jack’s had a cheery kitten in a Santa hat on it.

Mark accepted the offered mug and gave a little snort at the decorations. “If _you’d_ taken the Halloween one I would’ve had to call you out on terrible usage of puns.” Even so, the kitten _was_ cute. Not as cute as the person _holding_ the kitten mug though. Mark took a hefty sip from his cup to dispel that awkward thought- among others- and sighed. His throat was still strained from screaming, but the tea helped. He considered the theme of tonight’s premier dream sequence and frowned. None of it really had anything to do with Jack, or Septiplier in general. It had been very Mark-centric. Those were always double-edged swords. No Jack to make guilty or feel guilty over, but they always cut deeper. The focus was Mark and Mark alone. He had the full attention of his masochistic subconscious.

“Hey, cut me some slack here! I’m not _Wade_!” Their friend’s overuse of bad puns was legendary. If he had been Jack, surely he would have taken the jack-o-lantern mug. “I can’t believe you’d make me walk _all the way to the kitchen_ and then _all the way back to my bedroom._ On top of being sleepy. Geez. You really did buy into that whole ‘I never sleep’ schtick.” Jack sipped at his tea and drew his other leg up, sitting cross-legged as he faced Mark.

“Want to talk about it?”

Tonight it hadn’t been _Mark’s_ torment on display. Maybe that was why he woke up crying. He supposed after finding out about Chica, it was inevitable. Brains took snippets from daily life and used them in dreams. That was fact, and yesterday had been _all about_ Chica. Mark rubbed harshly at his brow and the bridge of his nose. He was tired. He didn’t want to do this again. ‘ _Every single_ ** _night.’_** He knew if he went back to sleep without spilling the despair in his guts, his mind would just replay it all for him behind the cover of his eyelids.

“...it was Chica. The whole thing. I don’t even think I was in there myself once, besides being a spectator…. God, I wish it’d been me. I wish I could’ve just remembered them hurting _me,_ instead of watching some fake bullshit about them hurting _her._ It was the same nightmare I’d have _so many times_ while I was in that room, after they told me. _Lied_ to me. I knew it was wrong this time. _I knew._ But it still hurt to watch, to hear her whining and whimpering and calling out to me- I know it was me, I _know,_ I’m basically her daddy. I’m her _protector._ But I couldn’t _do_ anything and it was so terrible, the things they did to her Jack, I used to get sick from it. She’s such a good dog… such a good girl… she d-doesn’t deserve _any_ of it….” His voice broke, and he felt his eyes begin to sting with the threat of fresh tears. Chica had been such a _boost_ for him, in every way. Thinking about her being in any kind of distress _killed_ Mark.

Jack sipped and listened, sadness in his face as Mark described his dream of Chica being hurt. “At least now you know it’s fake?” he offered, after Mark fell silent. “I mean, I realize that doesn’t make the dreams any less horrible. But unlike dreams about you, where it really happened...it _never_ happened to her. She misses you, and that’s the worst of it. She didn’t even have to go a day without food, much less anything else. And you got to see her today...you could probably call again, if you wanted to. It’s early enough in California.

“Mark…” Jack stretched out a leg, nudging his foot against Mark’s duvet-covered knee, barely counting as contact. “She’s not hurting, Mark. You _know_ she’s not hurting.”

“ _I_ know she’s not hurting. My _brain_ knows. But that doesn’t stop it from trying to show me otherwise…. Just like when it told me _I_ was a dog. It _knew_ I wasn’t. But that didn’t stop it.” Mark’s brain didn’t do that particular hat trick anymore, thank god. He had worked past it after the first few weeks; any lingering dog habits. Turned out brainwashing was pretty much a load of hullabaloo that would usually wear off on its own with time. Jack helping to reinforce Mark’s humanity sped up the process a little bit. (Like when he _finally_ told him eating on the floor was silly and he didn’t need to do it anymore.)

He nudged Jack’s leg in turn with his own foot from beneath the cover and protection of the duvet. Scrubbing stubbornly at his eyes, he swallowed more tea with the hope it would stifle his tears. It sort of worked. “I know I literally just saw her barking and wagging her tail and practically spinning in circles to hear my voice again. I _know that._ But when I’m having a nightmare, and watching her get slowly brutalized to death, and then _mutilated_ just because…. Fuck, Jack, it _feels_ real. Just like all my other nightmares that _did_ happen. When I wake up, I can remind myself it’s fake. That Chica’s okay. But when I’m there, _stuck_ there, it’s almost like sleep paralysis. Like that one recurring nightmare I had with the giant moon- remember? I mentioned it in a panel once. I used to get shit like that all the time but now my brain has _fuel_ for it. I’m so…”

Mark sighed and leaned his forehead in his palm. He didn’t close his eyes. The risk of seeing Chica’s bloody corpse in the darkness was too great. “I’m so _tired…._ ”

“It’ll get better,” Jack said. “It has to. You’ll keep making fresh memories, and you’ll make good memories again, _great_ memories, and they’ll slowly push the bad ones out of your dreams. It’s just slow right now, because...well, because you’re limited to what sort of new memories you can make, stuck here in a tiny house in the Irish countryside…”

“...still some good memories, though….” It hadn’t all been panic attacks and mental breakdowns. Mark already had some nice memories tucked away in a special part of his brain. About Jack, about the house or the garden or even just a clear Irish night so full of stars he swore someone had gone and just poked a shit ton of holes in the blackness. He couldn’t get that in L.A.  and hadn’t realized just how much he missed it. Being isolated in the countryside had its perks.

Jack leaned over to pick up Chica Junior from Mark’s bed, walking her up the duvet to Mark’s lap. “Although...I have a question that might lead to happier memories?” He made the puppy toy sit on Mark’s knee and cock it’s head with a press of his fingers. “It’s almost your birthday. I was talking with Thomas over Skype just before--you didn’t wake me up, I hadn’t gone to bed yet. But, we were thinking...he’d like to come here for your birthday. If it’s okay with you.”

Having a doofy, adorable roommate had its perks too. Mark almost giggled at Jack's antics. A warm tickle had sprouted up in his chest and it worsened until he reached out to pet at the fake fur. However, Jack’s next words gave him serious pause. Mark blinked, frozen with a hand still lingering on the toy, and then quietly pursed his lips.

“...my birthday…. Fuck, it… it’s almost my birthday? Really?” Mark, as he acclimated back into normal life, had slowly grown accustomed to time again. At first, it had been disorienting after months of being locked in a room with no windows or clear passage of time. Calendars and dates, though, he was still working on. Mark had no real reason to keep track of that besides certain ones marked for therapy or physicals; dates Jack usually just kept tabs on and then warned him about a day or two prior. He hadn’t truly  _examined_ a calendar or paid attention to the little marker on his phone screen in _weeks._ It was almost deja vu. Like when he realized it was _summer_ in the hospital.

Mark pulled Chica Junior to his chest and hugged her a bit blankly. If Jack hadn’t said anything, he would have shot right past his birthday without even a blink. Twenty-eight, right? Christ. How could he have not even possessed just _one_ passing thought about it? Mark tried to press past the fridge horror of it; the reminder his brain was _still_ recovering in ways beyond mere emotions. He floofed at his hair and stared down at his lap without really _seeing_ it. Thomas. Thomas was going to come out there. He could be happy about that. _He could._ “Of… of course it’s okay. Holy shit. I’d love to see him, I… I haven’t seen any of them, since way before the convention. I mean. In person. I… a-and I know he probably wants to see me too. I can handle it. I want him to come out, if he can.” ‘ _If he wants to. If he wants to_ ** _see_** _me like this. Still so fragmented I nearly forgot about my own damn birthday,_ ** _Jesus Christ.’_**

“Couple weeks out still,” Jack said, letting Mark pull Chica Junior from his hands and sitting back. “But yeah, it’s coming up. I’m working a present for you. Shh. It’s a secret.” Jack touched a finger to his lips and grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All Thomas needs is a good internet connection. We have a _great_ one. Once he heard that, he was sold. And...he’s not gonna tell your moms. Not yet.”

 _“Couple weeks out”_   didn’t make Mark feel much better. He tried to ignore how a small part of his brain was running in circles and screaming about how losing track of time so _significantly_ was _horrific._ Instead, he again did his best to stay excited about what Jack was saying. He _was_ happy about it. He just felt a little torn in the emotions department- as per fucking usual. “A present? Jack, you _kind of_ bought me a whole house. I mean, we share it, but still. I don’t think you really need to get me anything else….” On top of _all the other shit_ Jack had done for him since he was released. It was enough to count for several years of presents- birthday _and_ Christmas, in his book. Thomas would probably bring something along too, and his moms might send something in the mail. Usually, he also got flooded with fan gifts, but he supposed they would all just sit at his doorstep in L.A. this year.

“Are you going to deny me the funness of getting you a present for your birthday?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow at Mark. “Seriously? After all I’ve done for you, and you won’t give me this one small pleasure?” He was smiling again.

“Well shit Jack, if you wanna spoil me _that_ badly.” Mark caught the teasing and like before, was all too happy to give it right back. _Finally,_ that awful sensation of lost time was shoved into a dark corner of his mind to be confronted at a later date. Or not at all. That would be preferable.

“Tom’s fine with sleeping on the couch too,” Jack said. “I offered him a hotel room, but he’d rather stay close. Again...unless you want him to not be sleeping here.” Jack’s smile faded as he took another sip of his tea. “He knows you have nightmares, but there’s a difference between _knowing_ and _experiencing_ …”

“Well, Tom doesn’t have a death wish, so I’m not surprised. God help all of us if they ever find out.” Mark tried to settle himself with more tea. It helped a little bit. Only a little, though. “If Tom wants to be close, I’m not gonna take that away from him. He finally gets to see me again…. And he might not for a while, after he leaves. It’s fine. He _is_ my brother. He’s been holding me after nightmares since we were kids.” Mark wasn’t sure the old technique would work quite so well now, but Thomas would be there for him one way or another. Which was good. Maybe he could take some of the load off Jack, for a short while. He hummed thoughtfully as he petted the toy dog in his lap.

Jack took a long sip of his tea. “What sort of cake do you like best? I’ll make you one. From scratch, even. Cause I know how to do that.”

“You _would_ know how to bake a cake from scratch. Gotta get your fix, right? I dunno. I’ve never been a _huge_ fan of cake like _some_ people I know….” Mark paused for a pointed look. “Hmm…. I guess… funfetti?” Because it was fun to say, and looked awesome, and he wanted to see Jack’s reaction.

Jack cocked his head to the side, frowning a little at Mark. “Okay, so...I’ve never had funfetti cake before. I mean, I’ve seen pictures and stuff: it’s the cake with all the colorful shit inside, right? How the fuck do you make that?”

Mark had nearly drained his own tea by now. “Yeah, that’s the one. It’s a complete mystery, Jack. _Nobody knows._ Some people say it’s made by unicorns running rainbows through a giant cheese grater. But that’s just hearsay. Personally, I think it’s some kind of magic bullshit Betty Crocker and all those other cake mix companies don’t want you to know about.”

Jack scrunched up his face at Mark. “You dickbag, you picked funfetti on purpose, didn’t you? Just you watch. I will personally make sure you have the most epic funfetti cake ever for your birthday!”

Mark hid his smug little smile behind his empty cup. “Hey, you asked. Don’t get mad at me for giving an answer. Sometimes we’ve gotta learn our lessons the hard way.” He knew Jack would just end up searching for a recipe online, and then he would know of Mark’s treachery. He’d better find a good hiding spot if he didn’t want to be smacked upside the head with some papers. Still, the possibility of getting a paper cut was worth Jack treating his request like he had to make the elixir of life or something.

“Consider this challenge _accepted_.” Jack drained his tea and gave a firm nod. “Funfetti cake it is. Anything else you want for your birthday?”

Jack had taken it a step further. One would really think Jack knew better by now. Mark stared Jack dead in the eye and answered with the most serious deadpan he could physically muster. “Goat pinata.”

“Mark?” Jack leaned in toward Mark, holding Mark’s gaze. “Your wish...is my command.”

This time, when Jack smiled, it _did_ reach his eyes. “Any. Thing. Else?”

“Great. We’re finally getting a goat.” Then Mark was going to _wreck that goat’s_ ** _shit._** Funfetti cake and a goat pinata. Clearly they were talking party of the century. Thomas would think they’d both gotten cabin fever out there in the wilderness. Oh well. Jack was _still_ baiting him, daring him to say something else ridiculous _just_ so he could agree to it. Mark had to admire his tenacity. Yet, his next request was unfortunately serious.

“...help me make a birthday vlog?”

That wicked grin slipped off Jack’s face, but then he was smiling again, and it was a softer smile this time. “Yeah, yeah, of course. If the weather’s good, we can set up a camera outside, or in the sitting room if it’s not.”

“Do you have to make like a blood sacrifice in Ireland for a promise of good weather? I mean, does promising to slay the paper mache goat count? Maybe we could offer the gods potatoes or something.” Mark really did hope the weather was nice enough for an outdoors party. Cincinnati and Los Angeles almost always had good weather for his birthday. It would be strange enough celebrating it in a different country, let alone _inside._

“We can try to plead with the river god,” Jack said. “The little faeries of the Shannon might intervene on your behalf, since you’ve been so good at feeding her ducks.”

“I'll give them half a loaf every day if it means sunshine and rainbows on my birthday.” Mark giggled almost inaudibly. “Okay, I can maybe pass on the rainbows, I just figured they were your guys’ specialty.”

“If we did it the day before, you could have it up on your birthday,” Jack mused. “But if we did it the day of, you can have your epic goat-and-funfetti-party in it. Rebecca and the Taco Trophy have to be in it, for sure. It’s not a Markiplier vlog anymore without them.”

Mark hadn’t really filmed himself yet, but he’d been taking some pictures. He was getting more comfortable with selfies. Maybe, with Thomas there, he could manage an actual video. His fans would be ecstatic. Even if they had to wait until the day _after_ his birthday to see it. “I want to get a shot of every last awful thing at this party. All of it. I wanna see Tumblr losing their shit and making memes, Jack. It’ll be the greatest vlog comeback known to man. Like one giant shitpost but in celebratory video format. You could help me edit it too.” The key to any good vlog. With their combined editing skills they would make true art.

“If we’re gonna do _that_ , we need to really brainstorm how to make this the best awful party ever. We definitely need a birthday party princess crown for you, or something like that. Horrible party hats. We’re not gonna have any guests...costumes. We need costumes, so Thomas and I can pretend to be hoards of people. And the ducks. You know how you can get the ducks to chase you when you’re almost out of bread? We need to do that.” Jack drummed his fingers against his mug. “What about callbacks to some of your favorite videos?”

Mark hadn't expected Jack to so eagerly and vividly latch onto his silly idea. The Irishman wasn't much of a vlogger. Especially outdoors vlogging, but Mark could recall some of the vlogs Jack _did_ make. They were always popular and pretty well put together. Jack was a fantastic editor. Maybe he was just excited to help Mark finally make a comeback vlog. He was on the right track, anyway. It needed to be big. Something that would really rile up the community in the best possible way. Mark wanted to make up for his prolonged absence. There was a faint smile on his lips as he regarded Jack.

“I think they'd love it. I think _I'd_ love it. Just complete craziness and silliness. I mean, there's only gonna be three of us there so we might as well have fun with it. Tom might be a little hesitant but I can _always_ manage to drag his ass on board a project. He can't resist this face.” Mark pulled a lighter version of his puppy dog look. “It sounds like a lot of stuff to get our hands on, though. We could skim my older videos and compilations for ideas. I can think of a few major things my fans _still_ latch onto even if I haven't touched them in forever.” Like Tiny Box Tim, and the Squirrel King, and even his Lucky Flannel which didn't see as much use anymore. He was a little giddy. He felt motivated, and Mark couldn't wait. “This is gonna be either really awesome or really, _really_ stupid.”

“I was already planning on making you a Tim cake,” Jack admitted.

Mark squealed softly, face lighting up. “You're gonna make it a Tim cake?! Ooooh it better be cute. Don't besmirch the rep of my favorite little biscuit, Jack.” Honestly, he would love it even if it came out looking like some toddler’s first finger painting. The two of them were going to make his birthday party the best it had ever been.

“And what if we got cutouts of monsters, like the FNAF crew, and pretended they were guests too?” Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “I suspect Tom will cave to _anything_ you ask of him.”

“You mean like a Balloon Boy with an actual shit ton of balloons? And we'd need Sexy Chica. For the cupcakes. No Puppet though.” Too much like a mannequin. That thing _still_ freaked Mark right the Hell out.

“However,” Jack began, yawning, “it is also two in the morning, and we both had long, emotional days. We should try sleep again.” He smiled a little crookedly at Mark. “Want a lullaby? I've been trying to learn more Korean ones…”

Mark pouted a bit. “Aw man, how the heck do you expect me to fall asleep after getting me all excited?? You should've saved the ideas for morning. Now I'm jittery and hyped up.” However, Mark set his empty mug on the nearby table and scooted so he could lean back against his pillows. When in a really good frame of mind like this, he didn't like full blown stretching out. One, Jack needed space. Two, it kind of made him feel like Jack was his mom or something. _Especially_ when he sung Korean lullabies. Like this, though, it was a little more natural. Even if he _was_ cuddling a stuffed dog toy. “But I guess you're right…. It is really late. And how can I possibly turn down some sweet Korean when you've been doing a bunch of research? You know if my mom wasn't so convinced you're smuggling me away from her on purpose you could always ask her for some. She's got the real deal.” Granted, she might not respond well if she discovered Jack was singing Korean lullabies to Mark in her stead.

“That's why I'm offering lullabies, ya goof, to calm us both down. Maybe I'll ask Thomas when he's here. Seems like he actually remembers more of his mother tongue…”

“You're right, he does. He always sort of held onto the Korean stuff more than I did.” It would be funny to see Thomas’ response to finding out Jack sung Mark Korean lullabies- if he hadn't been told already. Mark knew his brother would understand. It was a huge reason he was happy the older man would be showing up.

All teasing aside, Jack set his own mug down, making himself comfortable at the foot of Mark's bed. “I suppose it's good that you don't actually know the language, so you won't know when I screw up. But okay. So, this one was _my_ favorite…"

“Let's see if I recognize this one….”

Mark settled in as Jack started to sing. The choice did sound vaguely familiar but he didn't think it was one his mom would commonly pick out. It was nice all the same. Jack actually spoke Korean pretty damn well and he'd been right about the hiccups- Mark didn't know enough to notice. It was naturally soothing, and simultaneously played upon the little Mark still hiding out somewhere inside of him. The one that had fallen asleep to these lullabies. Now he did so again, perhaps with just a little more of a delay from being so excited. He slipped further down into his bed, tucked between duvet and pillows and cuddling Chica Junior, and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	53. 6/15: An Awkward Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark realizes it's not Chica sleeping at his feet.

Mark had no idea exactly what time it was when sunlight slanted directly into his face and roused him from slumber. Usually, his natural internal clock would wake him up before it could do that. He must have slept in a little. Rolling over with all the huffing and grumbling of a hibernating bear, he found himself fumbling with wildly skewed glasses. “Damn it…” He'd slept with them on again. Now he'd have marks on his face. Plus if he kept it up, they were going to get bent out of shape. He'd need to be more careful.

For now, he adjusted their positioning and squinted at the clock on his bedside table. Seven am. Yeah, a little later than he usually got himself up, but not bad. Still plenty of time to make breakfast and brew coffee before Jack got up. Mark mainly handled that chore every day since he would be making the stuff for himself anyway, but he also did it because Jack would get up with him every single night to soothe his nerves and chase the demons away with a steaming mug of tea. The least he could do was whip up a good meal come morning (and keep the coffee hot).

Mark rolled onto his back and gave a languid morning stretch with a yawn that could have probably caught fifty flies. (Eurgh. Bad analogy. Who even came up with that stupid saying??) Except something was stopping his foot from fully extending. There was an odd, semi-soft lump at the foot of his bed and for a brief moment he had pleasant thoughts of golden fur and wet doggy kisses. Then he spied the plush, and remembered Chica was all the way back in Los Angeles (but not dead, _not dead,_ **alive** ). Which made him frown. He didn't remember dumping anything on his bed last night. Besides Jack, it had been empty- oh.

Mark propped himself up onto his elbows with a blink. There, curled up against his foot board, was none other than JackSepticEye himself, Mr. Sleep-is-for-the-Weak extraordinaire. His mug was on the floor. The silly oaf must have dozed off while singing Mark to sleep. Mark tilted his head. Like this, all quiet and peaceful and folded into himself, Jack looked _really_ adorable. Mark loved the Irishman for his boisterous vibrancy but seeing him like this was a rare treat. He let the image settle into his mind as he took his time combing over the details. It was okay to stare if they were asleep, right? Okay. No. That sounded worse- but he did it anyway. Not like anyone was going to find out and call him a pervert or something. Jack was even fully dressed!

Jack must have been on his computer or something before coming in to help Mark. Which was probably for the best, even if Jack would wake up uncomfortable. If his friend had been in boxers this would be a lot more awkward. Instead, his jeans were twisted around skinny legs and his shirt was rumpled beyond fixing. It had ridden up in several places to reveal smooth white skin and-

Mark slammed the brakes on that train of thought so fast he almost gave his brain whiplash. He shook his head and firmly redirected his gaze to Jack’s face. Much better. That wasn't creepy at all (he was so fucked if Jack woke up right now). The brown and green fluff was mussed all over in a prime example of terrific bed head. Blue eyes were closed gently in slumber and his mouth was hanging open, just a little. It was a ridiculously cute sleeping face. Mark sat up to rest an arm over his legs and drew the other hand up to press his knuckles against his teeth. His heart was acting all weird in his chest again. Was he nervous Jack had been there while he slept? No, he didn't think so, but the butterflies persisted.

Slowly, he wiggled out of the duvet. Mark blamed the sensation on an ever-growing need to piss. He should really get that coffee going too. Jack probably wouldn't sleep in as late all mashed up like this, but Mark didn't want to prematurely wake him if he could avoid it. Jack needed all the sleep he could get. Cautiously, he made to slip out of the bed, eyes locked on the snoozing little leprechaun in case he showed signs of stirring.

Jack _did_ stir when Mark moved, but he didn't wake up. He mumbled unintelligibly, the arm not tucked under his head questing out blindly. He seemed to be searching for something, but he was apparently satisfied with a fold in the duvet. When his fingers found the lump, he gave a happy little noise, curling his fingers into it and wiggling closer before settling down again, the faintest traces of a smile playing over his lax face.

Mark watched the scene play out with pure fascination and curiosity. It was like watching a kitten snuffle around for his blanket and then letting loose a triumphant mewl before cuddling into its folds. Basically, it took every ounce of willpower in Mark’s body not to squeal with glee at the sheer levels of adorable. By the time Jack had settled back down again Mark had a hand clamped tightly over his own mouth and the other quietly punching the bedspread. God. Fucking. _Damn it_ why was Jack so cute?! The man was going to kill him. He looked even _more_ adorable now with that happy little smile on his sleeping face. Ugh. _Ugh._ Mark felt like he needed to lay back down.

However, he knew it would be better if he was out of the room when Jack woke up. Less embarrassment for his friend. Grudgingly, after watching Jack’s peaceful expression for a minute or two longer, he got out of bed. Though Mark paused again before leaving the room. Seeing Jack cuddling nothing more than a duvet just felt wrong somehow, but he certainly couldn't replace it. Then again…

Mark tucked Chica Junior into a gap between Jack’s arm and his body; patting the little dog on the head appreciatively. “Keep him safe, Chica-bitty-bica. He’ll get up when he smells the coffee.” He almost retracted his hand then, but found himself hesitating once more. He watched Jack with twitching fingers and an unreadable expression. Then his fingers were brushing over green locks; curling a few messy bangs out of Jack’s face. Still soft. Something tightened near painfully inside of Mark’s chest and he forced his feet to finally move. He retreated from the bedroom and made a quick pit stop in the bathroom. Away from the illegal levels of cute that was Sean McLoughlin, he was able to rein in his composure.

Breakfast. Right. Mark set about getting the coffee brewing and then considered what would be good. Jack might be grumpy after sleeping so uncomfortably. Not to mention feeling awkward due to falling asleep at Mark’s feet. He should make something that would dispel all that negativity. Something like…

 _S’mores waffles._ Hell yes. Jack would lose his shit in the very best of ways. Mark had a bit of a sweet tooth himself that morning anyway, so he set about making the batter and heating up the waffle iron he _insisted_ they get. By the time the coffee was ready, he had the first batch in and it smelled delicious. “We are going to have a sugar high _all fucking day._ Must be out of my mind….” Yet he was smiling.

It wasn’t much later Mark heard Jack pad on socked feet into the kitchen and looked up from where he'd been taking the second waffle off the iron. There was still batter left for more, but these things tended to be so ridiculously sweet that eating more than one could trigger losing it all in the toilet. So he'd wrapped the bowl and shoved it in the fridge for now. The first waffle already had its pile of slow-melting chocolate chips and fluffy marshmallows.

“...chocolate? You’re making chocolate breakfast?”

The look on Jack’s face was priceless. The fact he was still holding Chica Junior and talking like a kid on Christmas morning only made it better. Mark wished he could snap a picture- oh wait, he'd been prepared. A quick grab of his phone off the counter and- yup. Image immortalized. (He'd contemplated snapping one of Jack sleeping too but figured that was just too creepy and similar to… certain memories.) Mark didn't even apologize as he just sent Jack a smug, amused look and set to topping off the second waffle. “Only the best for YouTube’s resident sugar fiend. Thought you could use a pick me up after last night.” More like this morning, but Mark wouldn't say anything if Jack didn’t.

Jack stuck out his tongue and flipped Mark off. “You spoil me, Mark.” Jack smiled sheepishly at him. “Morning. Hope I didn’t put your feet to sleep or anything.”

So much for saving some of Jack’s poor dignity. Mark shrugged. “You reap what you sow, what can I say? Morning to you too, Jackaboy. Feet are fine. Dunno about the blanket, though. Thought I saw a miniature lake forming where your head was.”

Jack poured himself a mug of coffee, frowned at the logo plastered on the side, and then shrugged. He let Chica Junior pretend to try some of his coffee before he carried her over to Mark and deposited her on her rightful daddy’s shoulder, little plastic nose shoved in Mark’s ear. “Ugh, usually I get a bit of sleep before coming in. My own damn fault. Back’s stiff this morning. Chocolate will make it all better...shut up, I don’t drool! Unlike _some_ Americans I could name…”

Mark hummed a little as he fished out butter and syrup (because the waffles clearly weren't covered in _enough_ sugar). Jack was being adorable with Chica Junior again and Mark felt like dying. Just laying down on the floor to rot because his roommate was slowly giving him fatal diabetes from all the sweet fluff. He puffed out an amused breath as the plush was set on his shoulder and affectionately bumped his cheek against it. Good enough.

“Hey, it just means I'm more than adequately hydrated, gosh dang it! At least your feet weren't at risk of soaking in it half the night.” Mark quickly pushed one of the messy plates into Jack’s free hand before the other could whine too much. He moved to pour his own cup of Joe and let the plush remain on his shoulder for now. “Just go stuff your face with sugar already. And then get a shower, cause sleeping in regular clothes is ick.”

“Thank you for the morning sugar, Mark!” Jack sang as he headed out to the table. “You are the bestest roommate _in the world_!”

Mark sputtered, but thankfully Jack was already out of the kitchen. All too eager to stuff himself with sugary waffles and hot coffee. His cheeks went a little pink from the Irishman’s prime choice of words but he shook it off. _Obviously,_ Jack was just referring to breakfast. Not Mark _actually_ giving him some sugar. Oh god. He needed to go shove waffles in his mouth before his face got any redder. He tried to stop his voice from coming off as strained or pitchy. “Oh-ho, someone hasn't talked enough with Matt and Ryan. Good to see my roommate rep is on the up and up.”

He could hear Jack's pleased noises from the kitchen. “Gotta say, you Americans sure do get inventive with food. Forget French cuisine. If I could only eat one type of food for the rest of my life, it would be American.”

Mark joined Jack _at the table_ and took a minute to just sip at his coffee. He couldn't shovel piles of sugar into his mouth like Jack could. He had to take his time with such a decadent breakfast. Listening to his friend attempt to chat between giant mouthfuls was fun though. “Hey, we got a surplus. People get bored and wanna break the mold. That's what America is all about. You want your bacon deep fried? Marshmallows on waffles? French fries _on_ your burger? No problem.” Plus it was better than friggin’... _lamb and potatoes Jesus Christ._ Freaking Irish people. “Too bad we can only grow vegetables in the garden. Just imagine having a marshmallow plant….”

“How is the garden coming, anyway?” Jack asked, glancing out the window. “Found any leprechauns? Any duck nests?”

Mark let himself get a few bites into his waffle before he answered the line of questioning. Jack didn't really help Mark much with the garden, just picked up stuff from the store if he asked for it. Mark didn't mind. Jack had a channel he was still trying to run and didn't much care for the outdoors, it seemed. Maybe it had something to do with growing up surrounded by the stuff. Mark never knew what that was like, so he reveled in nature whenever it was readily available. The Irish countryside was like the Amazon when compared to Cincinnati or Los Angeles.

“Pretty good. I've just about cleared out all that brush and overgrowth that was making it impossible to even see the fences. Still have to do the shed but it's just some weeds behind it. I'll get to it eventually. Thought I'd try trimming some of the plants we’re keeping. Primarily the trees, like the willow, but… might need to pick up a tool for the really high ones.” He smiled mischievously into his coffee. “No nests. Did find a leprechaun though.”

“You found what...oh.” Jack pulled a face at Mark and Chica Junior. “Ach, shaddup. Just cause yer after me lucky charms don't mean ye’ve _caught_ me or not’ing.” Jack chuckled.

Mark had initially just wiggled his eyebrows at Jack when the “leprechaun” caught his joke but when he thickened up his accent to be as stereotypical as possible and played along, he snorted hard into his next sip of coffee. He pulled off from it sputtering and giggling. God dammit, Jack. Beaten at his own game. “You a-assholes don't even _have_ Lucky Charms here. That should be a global offense. Did you boycott it ‘cause Lucky is so much cuter than all of you and you're jealous?” That was a heinous lie if he ever told one- Jack being the prime example sitting before him- but he _was_ a little upset about the Lucky Charms.

Jack was still giggling. “I _know_ , right? It's so unfair! If any country had a national cereal, it should be Ireland with Lucky Charms. And I mean, come on, it's just normal cereal with marshmallows. Why can't we have that?”

“Well it's either because you're all a bunch of bitter-loving sticks in the mud, or- and this is just a hunch- because you bought all the marshmallows.” Mark thoroughly enjoyed the back-and-forth he shared with Jack. Usually, there were several people he could engage with some playful banter while he made vlogs or played video games or did collaborations. Even if it was just through text. Since he was still getting used to everyone, he primarily socialized with Jack now and so the Irishman took the brunt of all his pent up sass. Thankfully, Jack was more than happy to shoot the shit right back.

“I blame you for the marshmallows!” Jack protested, picking up his fork and pointing it at Mark before returning to his breakfast. “I mean, just look at this! Marshmallows on breakfast! I've bought more marshmallows since you moved in because you keep coming up with new uses for them. If anyone is to blame for Ireland's marshmallow shortage, it'd be you and other visiting Americans.”

“Okaaaaay, that may be true, buuuuut… you're still stuffing your face with them. And every other thing I make with marshmallows. How much hot cocoa have we gone through, exactly?” It had to rival their coffee consumption. Mark should probably get a dental checkup soon. Just to be safe.

Jack set his fork aside to wash down the copious amounts of sugar he'd just eaten. “The garden seems to be doing you a lot of good too. You definitely have more color back than you did when you were in hospital...and since you've now experienced the Irish weather first hand, you know how much that's saying.”

Wiping up a few small coffee splatters, Mark took a look at his arms. They _did_ look darker; closer to his natural hue. Ireland didn't have California’s sunshine but being outside almost every day would have an effect at some point. The hard labor was also helping his muscle mass return- albeit very slowly. He felt better about looking in a mirror now, that much was for sure. “Yeah. It's kind of nice not ending up balls deep in my own sweat after thirty minutes of being outside. Even though I could just go jump in the river if I got too hot, I suppose. I think I could take on a killer swan. I've got the ducks on my side.”

Jack shook his head. “See, that tells me you still haven't actually seen swans in action. We might need to go to a park or something someday, so I can show you why swans are fucking _terrifying_. You think I'm joking, but just one of those birds can _fuck you up_ and look gorgeous the entire time.”

“Yeah well, _I'm_ gorgeous too. Birds of a feather would apply, right? I'm just a bit big for my age. Missing a few feathers. I could pass for a swan. I'm graceful enough.” Well, flexible was probably a more accurate term but Mark was just joking around anyway. Still, pretending to be a swan and then getting chased by one would have made a hilarious vlog. People loved when animals were included. Like Mark’s squirrels, or Chica, or Jack and the horse. _Everyone_ remembered Jack and his horse. “It's illegal to beat up swans, isn't it.” The fact Mark said it in such a deadpan was what made it ridiculously funny.

Jack shoveled another forkful of waffle into his mouth. Swallowing, he croaked out “Honk honk, motherfuckers” and started giggling again. “It's not illegal for swans to beat up _you_ , so if you really want to try…” He sighed. “I suppose I'll be on hand to call an ambulance.”

Mark had been in the midst of consuming another forkful of nearly pure sugar himself and nearly spat it out when Jack honked like a goose (swan?). “J-Jack, fuck, are you just trying to make me ruin this table??” Mark coughed a bit, but he was laughing. He forced down the mushy lump and drained his coffee to avoid it sticking somewhere in his esophagus. Mental note for future vlog: use that phrase. Repeatedly. If Jack could steal his jokes then he could take Jack’s. Thankfully, he knew the lack of confidence in his swan-scrapping capabilities was also a joke. So he huffed and made a show of pouting over his next bite. “Always good to know you've got faith in the _best roommate ever,_ Jacky. I bet the ducks would support me. Bring down the swan oppressors! No more use of the phrase ‘ugly duckling’! I'll be the vanguard for waterfowl rights everywhere. Someone call Felix. He's been dethroned.”

“Eh, I’d rather have you laughing than an intact table,” Jack said with a shrug, still grinning ear-to-ear. “And while I may gladly _eat_ your concoctions, they come from your twisted little brain first. Without you, they wouldn’t exist, and I would neither eat them nor mourn them.”

“Aw, what an odd but sweet statement. I'll remember that.” Mark mock-cooed at Jack from across the table. “You _love_ my ‘twisted little brain’. So shut it, Mr. Potato Head.” He got up to grab some more coffee because he still had half a waffle left and he needed the fortification but he could hear Jack, and he made an exaggerated laugh. “You’re just trying to profit off my failure and misery, I see how it is! You've been subsisting off me for yeeeeaaars.” He was joking, of course. Mark might have helped spread the word but Jack got to where he was on his own merit.

“You and Felix both take credit for my success, but we all know I’ve been riding the coattails of Ken this whole time!” Jack called back as Mark left the room. “I just let you think that!”

Mark… hadn't really had the heart to check out his channel since regaining the ability to use a computer. Or much of anything social media related, really. He'd been slowly using Twitter again, and dabbling with Instagram. He even made a post or two on Tumblr but he refused to check any tags related to him _anywhere._ He knew what they would be full of. If Jack happened to find something _positive,_ he'd show Mark, but otherwise Mark was clueless as to how his accounts were faring. How his _channel_ was faring. Part of him was scared. Not scared it had stopped growing, because that just made sense, but scared it was shrinking- considerably. That all the wonderful people he'd been helping and that had been willing to support him were heading for greener, _active_ pastures. In the past, he had joked about Jack sucking up his subscribers like a sponge. Now…

...was not the time to be worrying about something superficial like subscribers. Mark could get them back if he wanted to. _Would_ get them back. Right now, he was finishing up a fantastic breakfast with Jack and he wouldn’t let any stray grey clouds darken the mood. What were they arguing over? Oh yeah. “Jack, you’re my top resource on all the grand threats of Ireland but I think I’m gonna need to take this one with a grain of salt. Those prettied up turkeys won’t stand a chance.”

“Markiplier, if you attack swans, I will be right beside you. Fifty feet away. With a camera and a box of bandaids and 999 on hand. That is how I will support you, and you will _thank_ me for it, when the dust clears and you’re licking your wounds. I’ll even be cheering in the background like a soccer mom: You got this, baby!”

Briefly, Mark chuckled to himself at the mental image of a soccer mom!Jack complete with mom jeans and middle-aged hairstyle- including the shock of bright green, of course. Then he caught the pet name and nearly spilled scalding hot coffee all over his hand. _“Jesus.”_ Mark muttered under his breath as he quickly set the pot down. He braced the counter for a moment, blinking, then cleared his throat and tried to sound natural. “Oh really? Using those _exact_ words?”

“What’s wrong with my wording...oh, the baby bit? Well, if I’m being your mum, wouldn’t that make you my baby, Baby Marky?”

Mark shook his head. Something about Jack calling him “baby” and thanking him for his “morning sugar” made him feel weird, so he tucked the thoughts back into a corner with dozens of others and focused on more pleasant thoughts. He managed a laugh he hoped sounded genuine enough with the distance and echo. “Okay, okay, if I'm your baby then who the _Hell_ did you get pregnant?? Please don't say my mom. That's a Matt and Ryan joke.”

“Well, when a badger loves a duck, very very much… I dunno, do you think Swedish and Irish can make Korean-German?”

“Oh Hell no. I'm _not_ calling Felix daddy. _I'm_ supposed to be daddy!” Mark looked up as Jack entered the kitchen and prayed his face had lost any lingering traces of melancholy from his earlier thoughts. “No. Never. Not in a million years. You are so off the spectrum of genetics I think you've made a new scientific field: bullshitics.” His mouth twitched at the pleading look Jack gave him over an empty mug and he sighed as if pouring coffee was pure torture. (It wasn't. Mark _knew_ what pure torture was.)

“Neither of us have anything like your eyes either. Hmm. Okay, when a potato and cinnamon toast love each other very very much…”

Mark filled Jack’s mug and set the empty pot in the sink. If he wanted more, _he'd_ have to make it. Mark refused to feed Jack’s habit any further than he already had that morning. “Okay, now Ken I could _maybe_ accept as my father. _Maybe._ I mean, it _would_ make Cry my… my sister?? Maybe? Does anyone even _remember_ that video?” Why were they even discussing whom JackSepticEye would bang to make a Markiplier? Too much sugar. That _had_ to be the explanation.

Jack rolled his eyes and tasted his coffee. “This conversation has just taken a weird turn. But talking of weird stuff...we have a birthday party to plan! Okay, so I remember...funfetti cake, a goat pinata, and the most epic vlog ever, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	54. 6/15: Questionable Offers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets an idea.

_“Jack!! JACK!!! No, no stop- leave him alone! Stop!! Jack, please, take it back! Take it back I can do it I can handle it please Sean_ **_please!!!_ ** _”_

_“Such a loyal dog,_ **_Markimoo._ ** _Good to see we trained you well. But your cute little master is just too self-sacrificing for his own good. Wonder how much different of a fuck he is without all that muscle…?”_

**_“SEAN!!!”_ **

“SEAN!!! SEAN- fuck- f-fuck, what, it-”

Mark heaved and sputtered stupidly as he looked wildly around the blur that definitely was _not_ the room. Heart feeling as if it was going to collapse in his chest, he flailed for his glasses and nearly knocked them off the table in his haste. Sliding them messily onto his face, Mark scanned his surroundings again: alone. He was alone, and not in the room. It was the cottage. It was _their_ cottage and Jack was probably rousing himself after hearing Mark’s screaming again. He was fine. _They_ were fine. Fuck.

Mark dug fingers into his hair and hunched over with his knees slightly bent beneath the twisted duvet. He felt a little nauseous from the images his brain had conjured up but deep breaths were helping. He hadn't thrown up from a nightmare in weeks and didn't want to start again now. Even if it had to be one of the worst. Mark’s brain didn't take memories and mash them together into horrifying scenarios often but when it did Mark always had an especially rough night. Getting not only kidnapped again, but alongside _Jack,_ and taken back to that damn room was one of his worst fears. His subconscious was quite happy to toy with the possibilities; things he _knew_ could happen in such a situation.

Thinking about Jack made tears form in his eyes and he sniffled. Mark grabbed a tissue. He needed to get himself under control for Jack. He could already hear the pounding footsteps. If Jack asked, he wouldn't tell him. At least, not the part where Jack was included in his torment. He didn't need to give Jack the same gut-wrenching ideas or paranoia but part of him wondered if anything could really get him back to sleep that night. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, fuck, Jack, I'm so sorry….” Dream Jack might have been fake, but it was still Jack, and he'd failed him miserably.

“Mark? You awake?”

The knock came a short while later, coupled with the usual question. Mark dumped the second tissue he'd torn through in the little waste bin by his bed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. Hopefully, Jack wouldn't notice he'd been crying, even if he'd seen it before. At least if he _did_ notice, he probably wouldn't point it out. He was amazing like that.

Still in the same position half-beneath his duvet, Mark slipped his glasses back on. He carded fingers through his hair a few times in some effort to rein it in and drew a steadying breath. “You ask that every time, but you already know the answer. Get in here already.” Mark appreciated Jack checking first, but did he have to ask if Mark was _awake?_ Of course he was. It was the same routine every fucking night. He hoped Jack had gotten some sleep beforehand this time.

Jack came into Mark's room with a smile and offered him one of the mugs (plain black tonight; they'd done the dishes). “I could try to think of new questions if you'd like, but it's easier to not think at half one.”

“True. Sorry. You can just knock and leave it at that if it's easier. By now I know it's gonna be you.” Mark was aware Jack would shrug off his apology but made it anyway, because he _was_ sorry. It was bad enough his dreams kept himself awake at night. He shouldn't need to drag Jack down too.

“On the really bad nights, hearing your name seems to help.”

Mark couldn't deny it. Hearing his real name helped in almost any situation. One anchor in a sea of imagined voices and memories to tell him _something wasn't quite right._ Rarely was he still in such a fit he hadn't somewhat recovered by the time Jack came knocking, but when he was it did him a world of good.

He took a few sips from his mug and observed Jack. His heart needed to, after that particular brand of nightmare. Needed to reassure itself Jack was present, alive and okay. That the images his subconscious had conjured up were the fakes. He kind of wanted to touch Jack but it just felt too out of place, no matter how his friend would have felt about it. (Good, probably, and eager- but it didn't matter.) Mark just looked, and absorbed all the details. Usually, they were cute or pleasant or just plain soothing.

Jack appeared awful tonight. Mark had seen him looking rough when stirred from a dead sleep but this was different. His hair was a wreck, his skin had a newfound pallor to it and heavy smudges rested beneath bloodshot blue eyes. Jack looked legitimately exhausted and Mark had to wonder if he'd been sleeping at all. Immediately, his guilt skyrocketed, but he nudged it aside for now. He needed to try and make this fast for Jack so he could get more rest. Mark had to not be selfish for once so he took a bigger gulp of his tea and leaned back in some effort to coax his body towards relaxation. It didn't help much. “You know, it's not… it wasn't too bad, tonight. You don't have to stay up with me. The tea should be enough….”

Jack gave a snort into his own mug, folding his legs under him and giving Mark the same visual study Mark had just given him. “Mark, we've been doing this every night for weeks now,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his tea. “It was a bad one tonight. Wanna talk about it?”

Mark drank from his own tea; outmatched. “I know we have. That's why I'm saying if you need to just… take a night, it's…. You're not even gonna consider it. I'll just stop now.” Mark sighed into his mug at the familiar sight of Jack making himself comfortable. Why did he even bother? They were both stubborn but it was always easier to stay put than move someone- physically or verbally. Jack wasn't going anywhere until Mark was asleep. “Not super bad…. Not Chica dying levels of bad…. Just, less memory and more possibility, I guess….” He sounded like an idiot. Always did when he tried beating around the bush, so he stopped.

“...they'd taken me. Again. From our house; dragged me back to that god awful room…. They found us somehow, they always do, just like when they want to dump a body and they got in because _of course_ they got in, they always do that too and there was nothing I could do, I couldn't stop them…” _From taking you._ Mark could still hear it: Jack’s screams ringing in his ears as he cursed the men tying them down; called out for Mark knowing he was a panicking mess who could pass out at any given second; threatened to rip their limbs off if they hurt him again and probably hoped one of their neighbors would hear them. Mark hadn't said anything. He hadn't said or done _anything_ in the nightmare cottage, just freaked out and gone limp when they manhandled him. He felt like a failure and hadn't even really _failed_ at anything. He knew if the scenario was real, the chance of him breaking down and being just as useless was very high.

Jack sipped his tea. “We're safe here, Mark. The alarm company knows about what happened. The police know. If those bastards break their pattern and come after us again, they've got about five minutes max before the police will be here. We'd just have to hold them off for five minutes.”

“Five minutes can stretch on forever in some cases….” Mark had anticipated Jack reassuring him with the facts. He'd had the nightmare before, and Jack had tried to comfort him the obvious way. He would _always_ appreciate any efforts Jack gave whether they were successful or not, but nightmares fed off irrationality. They broke the rules of logic and applied their own laws wherever they saw fit. To his subconscious; his fear; his paranoia- five minutes meant _nothing._ Police meant _nothing._ They'd had even tighter security at the convention and no one had been the wiser as Mark was whisked away. His rattled brain felt its suspicions were justified and he could hardly blame it, but still he knew Jack was trying to help and he sighed.

Jack stretched out a leg to nudge his foot against Mark's knee. “It won't happen, Mark. It _won't_. And it didn't. We're both still here, both still safe.”

“I know we are. I know we're as safe as we can get while still living semi-normally, Jack. I just wish…. I wish I wouldn't have to keep reliving this. All of it. I wish I didn't have to be so scared and fucking anxious all the time that one of these days they're just going to break through the fence in the garden and torture me all over again. I couldn't go back there, Jack. I _couldn't._ I barely held myself together the first time if I was trapped there again, with them, I'd….” He'd do the unspeakable. Which was why he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He drowned his morbidity with the rest of his tea. Good, now he could pretend to sleep and Jack could go get some rest.

Jack sighed, staring into his own tea. “I wish I could give you a hug,” he said.

“I wish you could too.” It wasn't as if Mark _didn't_ want hugs and touches and physical affection. He had been starved of it in that room and had always been a cuddly person to begin with. It was his brain that freaked out; told him he was in danger and any unexpected touch was a threat. That arms wrapping around him to comfort were instead seeking to trap and hurt him. He was getting better, though. The rewiring they had done was loosening and repairing itself, but it was a slow process and hugs were the biggest step yet even if he wanted nothing more than to hold Jack and cuddle him like a teddy bear until they both fell asleep.

“I could hold your hand?” Jack suggested, looking up at Mark again.

Jack understood. Which was why he didn't hug Mark- only said he wanted to, and then offered his hand instead. The fact Mark could look at the appendage with only minor trepidation was proof of his recovery but he still loathed his hesitation. “...okay. You'll have to scoot up a little though. It's okay. I'm not gonna freak out. Promise.” He set the empty mug on the bedside table and leaned back again. One hand curled into Chica Junior’s fur for support while the other rested palm up on the duvet. A mirror of how Jack always offered his hand to Mark back when he'd been worse. He could see the scars on his fingers in the moonlight, but he was good at minimizing how much the pang showed in his face as he stared at them.

Mark kept his focus on his own hand. Jack was still in his peripheral vision but if he watched Jack get into his space he knew he'd become too anxious. He just listened to the rustle of sheets and noted how the mattress would sink and rise with Jack’s slow movements. He was being careful; so cautious for Mark’s sake that it almost hurt. He tensed, minutely, as the weight settled beside him on the bed. His body noticed the sensation of something suddenly close.

Mark inhaled and exhaled through his nose; squeezing out the tension. It was just Jack. Jack had been this close before and not hurt Mark. He'd be okay. Still, he watched his hand. However, Jack continued to do anything but disappoint. Fingertips brushed at his skin and made his own twitch. The tendon in his wrist tightened up but Mark refused to retract his hand from the bed. He pinned it down with his stare until the friction of their palms made him shiver a little. Mark looked up at Jack- who was also staring at their hands. The manner in which he finally interlocked their fingers was so intricate Mark couldn't be afraid if he tried though he was a little overwhelmed. It was the first time he offered his hand to Jack first.

"This okay?"

Jack had taken it perfectly. Mark hoped his next shaky exhale didn't sound too much like a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, this… this is good. You're good, Jack. Promise.” Mark wanted to keep reassuring Jack- reassuring _himself._ He squeezed the hand now curled up in his own and slid a bit further down under the covers. _Better._

Jack watched their hands until Mark squeezed his fingers, returning the pressure and turning his head to look at Mark. He smiled, running his thumb along Mark’s knuckle. “I’ll hold your hand until you fall asleep,” he murmured, giving Mark’s hand another squeeze. “And I’ll try not to fall asleep in your bed this time. Mine’s just down the hall. I can make it.”

Mark hummed in response. He'd like that; Jack holding his hand until he conked out. His eyes were half-lidded and he had the presence of mind to release Chica Junior for a moment. Quietly, he removed his glasses and passed them to Jack so they could be safe on the end table. Then he cuddled the dog plush close again and let his already blurred vision unfocus. Jack was offering him all the routines he knew and reassuring him a repeat of last night wouldn't happen. Mark _didn't_ like that, for some reason. Now he was holding Jack’s hand, he didn't really want the other to leave and he felt bad keeping Jack up until he'd passed out. It wasn't fair.

Jack took Mark’s glasses and set them beside the empty mug on the table. “Want me to talk? Or sing? Or just...just stay quiet?”

Mark squeezed Jack’s hand again and snuggled deeper into the blankets. “Can you just… stay? Here. With me. I mean… last night wasn't bad. I didn't freak out and wake up again or have a panic attack when I saw you in the morning. It's…” Mark sighed deeply and looked over at the semi-formed blur that was Sean McLoughlin. “...you're exhausted, Jack. And it's not going to get any better if we keep this up. One or two nights of not forcing yourself awake to leave after I fall asleep isn't going to hurt us. You don't have to do it. But if you want to stay… I'm okay.”

Jack met Mark’s unfocused gaze, biting his lip. “I’m not so tired that I can’t…”

Mark was seconds away from bringing out the puppy pout when Jack started to protest. It would have been _twice_ as effective with his already sleepy look.

“Okay,” Jack murmured, running his thumb along Mark’s knuckle again. “Okay, I can…I can stay.”

Thankfully for them both, Jack switched gears and conceded to Mark’s offer. Okay, so maybe Mark had asked once on purpose. Just because he knew Jack would listen. Mark didn't like manipulating his best friend but Jack needed the rest. If he didn't do something, Jack might hurt himself. For Mark. So it was technically his responsibility.

Jack settled down against the pillows. He breathed slowly, and then began to speak, telling Mark about his day. “I’ve been playing a lot of VR games lately. They’re pretty neat. I love the ones that really get you moving as part of it, even if they do always remind me of how out of shape I am…”

Mark didn't really have a word to describe his feelings towards Jack staying. He merely smiled faintly and let himself sink fully into the position he'd usually take for bed. He could still feel their hands firmly connected beneath the duvet and it was odd, but not unwelcome. Mark wiggled his fingers. He noticed Jack’s body heat and how their arms just barely brushed each other. Jack was solid and warm beside him. Talking again, going off on some random tangent about his gaming and Mark tried to listen but rapidly found his consciousness waning. His eyes had already closed less than five minutes in. “Mmm… that's cool… look good to me….”

The words were just a sleepy mumble, but there was no mistaking them or their meaning. It was a half-asleep Mark’s way of trying to reassure Jack about his body, but any further opinions or details were lost because the next time Mark opened his mouth, a soft snore left it. He was back to sleep with his two favorite things (Chica Junior was a stand in) on either side and any further nightmares didn't stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	55. 6/16: Anticipated Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark wakes up, and in hindsight his sleepy ideas were perhaps half-baked.

Mark woke come morning around the same time as usual. His nightmare had hit relatively early last night and they hadn’t spent too long helping him settle afterwards. They were both tired. So much so that Mark had offered Jack to just share the bed with him already. The first night it happened, he was startled but otherwise didn’t react too negatively. However, Jack had been curled up at the foot of the bed by his feet, which was perhaps the least sensitive part of his body after his ordeal. This time, Jack had slept _next_ to him. Close enough to hold hands and bump arms. Too close, maybe.

Mark woke with a light weight resting across his waist and something warm buried into his shoulder. His hand was interlocked with another one and he vaguely recalled linking them with Jack last night. He had maintained the embrace up until sleep finally claimed him again, but he didn’t remember the other sensations. They were new. They were unfamiliar. They were _too close._ Mark felt his anxiety spike as a cultivated claustrophobia kicked in. It was a fear he’d never really hosted before he was kidnapped; a specific kind most people didn’t think about when the term was used. Mark could tolerate small rooms and spaces- sometimes preferred them, in fact, when having an attack. They made him feel less exposed and vulnerable. _Safer._ Limbs and bodies and _people_ , on the other hand…

He felt trapped. Mark knew he could shake off every touch with relative ease but fear was irrational. It didn’t tend to follow logic at the best of times and Mark wasn’t anywhere _near_ his “best”. There was an arm on his waist and weight on his shoulder and something tightly gripping his hand. He was pinned. He was in danger. He couldn’t move, and now it was getting harder to breathe, and-

He forced his lungs to rake in a messy, sputtering, _painful_ inhale and then choked on it. He coughed but repeated the action; sucking in gulps of oxygen to avoid hyperventilating. If he lost track of his breathing he’d have a breakdown. Mark _had_ to maintain control. Starting with the air filtering in and out of his lungs. His throat spasmed but he pushed through. He wiggled his fingers and twisted his wrist until he could worm the trapped hand free of the duvet- better. That was a little better, but he was still too boxed in, so Mark rolled and squirmed a little until he slipped away from Jack to the edge of the bed.

He almost toppled to the floor in his haste. Grappling with one of the bed posts, Mark managed to keep himself upright. He could feel his muscles trembling from his near panic attack but still he breathed, focusing on the in and out as he moved. He found his thoughts trickling back to that game again. The one _about_ anxiety. Now he knew just how accurate it was. _In and out, in and out._ Just like his therapist said. Just like how the game worked. Time his breaths while he walked and everything would be okay. Everything-

Mark walked straight into the wall with a loud thud and almost fell back on his ass from the impact. Glasses. Right. Those were by the… no, no going back now. He needed to get out of the room. He could do it. Mark had wandered around his own home without glasses before. He was born with hands for a reason. Still gulping down shaky breaths, he flailed an arm to the right and found the doorway. Just a few inches too far to the left. Dammit. Mark shook his head and pushed through into the hallway. If Jack had been roused by his actions he failed to notice or hear him. He was too wrapped up in breathing, moving, _getting space getting space getting space need space need to know I’m free, not trapped not trapped not_ ** _trapped_** _I’m not I’m free I can move see look-_

He entered the dining room and promptly tripped over a chair. Vaguely, in the back of his mind as he hit the floor, he contemplated the pros and cons of contacts.

“Jesus! Mark…?”

Mark faintly heard Jack’s shout followed by the thump of hurried footsteps. Well, if Jack hadn’t been awake before, he was now; great. At least being on the hard wooden floor of such an open space like the dining room was helping to calm him down; away from soft padding and heavy arms and walls that were closing in. The chill of the wood felt miraculous on his cheek and he allowed himself to close his eyes and just savor it for a moment.

“...Mark? You okay?”

Mark only moved again when Jack called out to him with clear hesitation and concern in his voice. Probably had his glasses too. “...think I bruised my face. Among other things.” Mark’s voice was tinged with a slur as his brain tried to get itself back into proper working condition. He had gone from a deep slumber into a near panic attack in under ten seconds flat. Then run into a wall and fallen on the floor. His body was in a bit of shell-shock at the moment. Part of Mark just didn’t want to move _at all,_ honestly. He was safe and calm in his sedentary position. Moving meant acknowledging meant accepting the fact he had _kind of_ freaked out when he **_promised_** Jack he wouldn’t. If Jack found out, he’d be upset, and angry with himself for listening to Mark. Mark couldn’t let that happen.

“That’s what happens when you forget you have glasses,” Jack said. “Sorry. Forgot I was kinda in the way there.”

Jack thought Mark forgot his glasses? Or that he didn’t take them, because he maybe didn’t want to disturb Jack? Okay. Okay, that could work. Mark could work with that. If Jack already didn’t suspect anything then he was in good shape. He just had to keep it together. “Starting to consider contacts.” Not really. It had just been a passing thought. Mark wasn’t sure he could handle things going into his eyes after the time his kidnappers threatened to cut one out. They decided to just cut up his face instead. Equally not fun but significantly less painful and not permanently detrimental.

“‘S fine. Thanks.” Mark shrugged off Jack’s apology because that wasn’t the case at all, and none of this was Jack’s fault. (In his mind, anyway, which was what mattered.)

Jack set the chair back upright and crouched beside Mark, holding out the glasses. “You gonna need ice for that bruise? Let me see how bad it is.”

Mark accepted his glasses and shakily pushed himself up onto an elbow with a wince. He was probably going to have pretty nice bruises tomorrow. Mark knew he’d need to avoid the mirrors until they at least faded. “Probably. I think it’s swelling up. Does… it look bad??”

Jack grimaced. “Your mothers are gonna have my guts for garters next time you give them a call. And Thomas is probably gonna beat me up when he comes here. Come on, let’s get to the kitchen to ice you up.”

“Dammit. Well… lucky for you, neither of them wear garters. I can’t save you from Tom, though. Just hold him back long enough for you to run.” Mark knew Thomas would understand if he explained some. His moms, not so much, but then they were barely okay with the current setup to begin with. They could deal. Jack offered Mark his hands. He sighed heavily and slipped on his glasses before taking them. Once on his feet again, Mark tapped gingerly around his face with a grimace. “Shit…”

Jack sighed, already giving Mark his space as he headed to the kitchen. “You okay? I mean, aside from the face? You woke up okay? With...me?”

To make matters worse, Jack was asking about this morning. About how Mark woke up. Of course, he should have known Jack would check in with him and not just take things at face value. Jack cared too much. He also knew what tended to freak Mark out. Could Mark get away with a lie? He _really_ hated lying to just about everyone- _including_ Jack. The man deserved as much honesty as he could get with Mark keeping so much information to himself all the time. Maybe, now that he was coherent, he could explain it in a way that wouldn’t absolutely crush his friend. Remind him whose idea it was and assure him the panic hadn’t been too bad. It was Mark’s shitty eyesight that ended up hurting him more than anything.

Fretting the truth would bite him in the ass, Mark kept glancing away from Jack’s face as he spoke. He knew he looked and sounded nervous. He was gesticulating too much, but once he started with the truth there was no going back. Mark only hoped Jack wouldn’t get upset. “I… panicked. A little. _Just_ a little! I got anxious because you were kind of on top of me. And I felt boxed in. But that was it! I had a handle on it, I did!! I remembered my breathing and didn’t have a full blown attack or anything. It would’ve been perfect, if I just had my glasses, then I wouldn’t have tripped on that stupid chair… or walked into the wall. Yeah. That… was a thing. But I’m okay! _I am._ Really. It was just new and I didn’t know how to take it the first time.”

Jack swore under his breath, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Mark, I’m a fucking clingy-ass sleeper. I should’ve thought about that last night, shouldn’t have stayed. Of _course_ you’d freak out. But...you really calmed yourself down?” Jack managed a smile, weak but still proud, for Mark. “That’s great! That’s...really great, actually. I can only imagine how much I latched on to you, so if you only had a little freakout...but it won’t have to happen again. I’ll make sure I make it back to my room next time, and then you never have to run out without your glasses.”

Mark’s fears were right on the money again: Jack felt bad. He was blaming himself, and swearing he’d never share the bed again. Something about that last part hurt Mark the worst, but he was too focused on helping his friend to really give it much thought. Mark trailed after Jack into the kitchen; a man on a mission. “Jack, it’s fine. _Really._ You weren’t even clinging that badly…. It was just me, like always. I don’t regret asking you to just stick around.” It _did_ feel good to acknowledge he had a decent handle on the situation, but Mark could revel in his proud accomplishment later. Right now, Jack required his attention.

Ice bag ready, Jack wrapped a towel around it and offered it to Mark. “I’m really sorry about that, Mark. I should’ve known better…”

“Jack, seriously, don’t put yourself down too much. Worse has happened. I’m still fine with you sharing my bed some nights. It’s not healthy for you to constantly drag yourself back to your own. You slept good last night, right? You look better. You look _rested._ ” Mark felt it too. He might have panicked and busted his face but he felt more alert. More awake. Sort of like yesterday morning. There was a connection in there somewhere, but he preferred devoting brain power to smushing the ice against his face. It stung for a moment, drawing out a hiss from him, before gradually numbing the sensitive areas and he sighed. “Jack, please, I forgave you even before you got out of that bed. I _asked_ you to stay with me last night. You don’t have to apologize, and you don’t have to force yourself back to your own bedroom. If you can drag yourself out of bed every night to help me, then I can share a little mattress. _I’m okay._ ”

“How well I slept doesn’t matter,” Jack insisted. “My bed is _fine_ , Mark, and it’s really not that much of a hardship to go back to it. I just make a fuss because I don’t wanna put the empty mugs in the kitchen.”

“ _Yes_ it does. Because _you_ and how _you_ _feel_ matter, Jack.” It was a common point of contention between them. Mark could understand Jack wanting to put Mark’s _everything_ before his own because of what happened; because of all the issues he had now, but sometimes Jack went too far and completely threw anything relating to himself to the wind. He would belittle and downplay his own feelings or needs. Mark wanted to call Jack out on his own words because clearly something _was_ a hardship if Jack wasn’t getting enough rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Jack had been far too good to him for Mark to just rip the rug out from under his feet like that so he bit his tongue.

“How did _you_ sleep?” Jack asked, turning the question back on Mark.

 _Something_ omniscient must have favored Mark that day. Jack asked the one question that would knock the wind from his self-assured sails. It was a little embarrassing for Mark to admit, but if it meant Jack would quit kicking himself then he’d do it in a heartbeat. Well, maybe _two._ Or three. He needed to take a moment and gather his thoughts. Hopefully, the ice would help to stop his cheeks from turning too pink as his one exposed eye slid off to the side. “Well, uh… I slept… I slept good. Well. Good? No, it’s well, I think- _whatever._ Point: I slept really fucking good, actually. Both nights. It was nice. I haven’t really felt this alert in…” He paused, trying to calculate and failing miserably. “...a while.”

“...oh.” Jack closed his mouth. Opened it again. “Oh. Uh…” He glanced away as well, unable to hide his slightly pink face behind a bag of ice. He coughed a little, cleared his throat, and turned away to get coffee started. “I...uh…”

Mark shouldn’t be feeling so smug about proving Jack’s assumptions wrong, but if it helped the other in the long run he would continue to do so at every given opportunity. Besides, Jack caught off-guard was a cute, precious thing to witness. Mark could hide his affectionate smile behind the ice along with his blush while he appreciated the pink tinge Jack’s ears had obtained. Combined with the floof of brown and green bedhead Mark’s nerves were officially settled. It was impossible for him to stay upset with Jack for very long when he looked so soft and cuddly.

Jack pushed his hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t want to make you panicked every morning. That can’t be a good way to wake up. And I _do_ cling. I cling like a fucking _limpet_ , Mark, and since I do it in my sleep...it’s gonna happen any time I don’t go back to my own room.” Jack’s eyes never strayed from his task as he measured out water and beans.

“I only panicked because it was the first time I ever woke up to arms around me… after what happened, I mean.” Wow, that sounded really fucking sad and _pathetic_ without the verbal annotation. “I didn’t know how to handle it. My brain just assumed it was bad, because I didn’t know it was good… if that makes any sense. I don’t know. Sometimes _I_ don’t even understand how I work after everything that happened. But we both know I can adjust. I can get used to stuff again- like waking up with a few limbs on me. I _stopped_ my attack from happening, Jack. That’s _great,_ you said so yourself. That has to _mean something._ I’m sure there’s precautions we can take, or… or preventative stuff, I dunno, but clearly this is good for us. You can’t deny that.” Mark was a little confused, because he sounded so desperate in hindsight, but really he just wanted Jack to be okay and doing what they had been for weeks... he wasn’t. It wouldn’t get better without some kind of change.

“Precautions like building a wall between us?” Jack asked, turning the coffee maker on a bit vehemently. “Mark, I’m gonna be grabby. I can’t help it. I’m _asleep_ when I do it, and even if there was a fucking wall of, I dunno, pillows or whatever...well, what’s the fucking point then?”

“Maybe. We could try it.” Mark mumbled, a little off-put by the tone of Jack’s actions. By now his face had gone completely numb from the ice so it was difficult to form proper expressions but he could still frown a little at the frustrated question. “The point would be we’re still sharing the bed.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jack slumped back against the counter, floofing his hair again and then peering up through the green mess at Mark. “It’s just...I hate...I hate being alone. You know that.”

Mark had been the first person Jack had told when he broke up with his Korean girlfriend. He’d also been the first person Jack had told about starting to date Signe...and he’d expressed his concerns over how quickly Jack had rebounded (and about dating a fan). Mark had a feeling Jack didn’t handle the single life very well, though he'd surely been trying ever since Signe broke up with him. He believed he hadn’t been able to give her the time she deserved.

“That includes sleeping alone. Probably _why_ I’m so clingy. And I don’t… I don’t want to _use_ you like that, Mark. You don’t deserve that.”

 _I hate being alone._ Mark could sympathize. It was a reason he got Chica in the first place, but he knew Jack handled solitude a bit worse. He had discovered long ago that companionship was something Jack _really_ needed to feel fully comfortable in his life.

After Jack’s first girlfriend, after Signe, he had been a mess. Mark had wished more than _anything_ that he could have been in Ireland with Jack if only to offer him company and a shoulder, but they were restricted to Skype and phone calls. Jack was happiest when he was with someone. Yet as a YouTuber, holding onto anyone could be _really fucking hard._ “I know that.” Mark echoed quietly. He observed Jack as his gaze dropped again; as the red on his face deepened. Mark's brown eyes softened- though only one was currently visible- and some of the tension seeped out of Mark’s shoulders. He wanted to reach out to Jack, but just didn’t know how he should. He kept his free hand by his side.

“If we’re talking about using, then can I just call myself out too while we’re at it?” Mark’s voice was quiet and even softer than his eyes, but didn’t waver as he continued. “You wouldn’t be the only one benefitting here, Jack. I’m being honest. I’m… kind of acting a little selfish right now, too. I want you to feel better. Sleep better. But it looks like it would help me too, and… and I think it’s because I feel so safe with you.” The blood had returned to Mark’s face but all the constriction in the veins there stopped it from really showing up in his skin. “When you come in after my nightmares, I don’t feel so scared anymore. My paranoia goes down…. I’m not looking over my shoulder constantly or waiting for someone to crawl out from under the bed. I feel _safe._ And maybe that’s why I sleep better. Maybe I can get more rest because with you next to me it’s not as easy for my brain to count off all the ways I’m vulnerable again. Like I was in the hotel room. Alone. In my bed. With you there, it’s not the same. Maybe you’d be using me because you’re lonely. But I’d be using you too. And _don’t_ start on that ‘but your cause is more important and understandable’ bullshit, Jack, because it’s _wrong._ We both need something here… and we’re both using someone else to get it. But I’m okay with that, because I _want_ to help you. And I know you want to help me too.”

Jack glanced up again at Mark’s admission, searching his half-frozen face. “...I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“‘Course not. You were too busy kicking yourself in the pants. That’s what I’m here for.” Mark’s tone was good natured, though. Jack’s immediate response was a positive sign and he seemed to be seriously mulling over the new information. It had been absolute _Hell_ for Mark to be so open about his feelings but he really felt this setup was a good idea. Healthy for _both_ of them, if they could just sort out the snags. They’d done it numerous times before as they grew and learned from their mistakes. They could do it again. If some part of Mark wanted this, even if he didn’t fully comprehend all the reasons why, then he was going to validate Jack wanting it too.

“I guess...I mean, I guess if you’re okay with it…”

“I’m okay with it. Even if I get anxious or panic again, I’m _okay_ with it. You know I can’t control my reflexes or reactions, Jack. I can only try to keep a handle on the aftermath…. And they’re not a representation of how I really feel. That stuff I said last night, before we fell asleep? _That’s_ how I felt. Not my actions this morning.” Mark snorted softly at the question and removed the ice from his face to prod at the cold spots with a finger.

“So...what, when I come in with tea, I also bring pillows?”

“If you want to grab one, maybe. I don’t know. We could just try sleeping further apart at first? Maybe you only clung so badly because we were holding hands. If we wake up, and you’re still on me… then we can try the pillows. It’s not like we’re cutting the bed in half if we use them. Just making it harder for you to smother me like a human teddy bear.” Something Mark wouldn’t have minded one single bit if those men hadn’t fucked him up so badly.

“I didn’t cling because we were holding hands,” Jack said. “At least, that’s never been the reason before. I don’t usually go to sleep holding hands…”

Mark shrugged. “Well, you’ve never really shared a bed with anyone but your girlfriends or like, your siblings maybe, right? Maybe you won’t be so clingy if you don’t feel like there’s a connection. We can adjust and see what happens. I controlled my anxiety once- I can do it again.” He tried to inject as much confidence and determination into those words as he physically could manage. He _needed_ to keep Jack convinced this was a good idea. If the other kept being skeptical and voicing his doubts, he could persuade the part of Mark that was nervous into changing his mind.

“I just...I hate making you panic. I know it’s not something you can control, but just knowing that I triggered your discomfort in any way… If you really want to try, though...okay. We can try.”

“You won’t forever. You’ve already stopped making me panic for so many other things, Jack. And I’ll take a few mornings of confused anxiety for more nights of good sleep. To know _you’re_ getting rest so you can better put up with all of _my_ daily bullshit. I really want to try. **_Really._** For us.” Mark looked at Jack and hated the body language he saw. Head down, those beautiful blue eyes on the floor, feet shuffling and every ounce of him just _screaming_ of having no faith in the idea. He was worried and uncomfortable. Mark was antsy and concerned, but he knew something that would set both their nerves straight. It was just a matter of working up the courage.

“Jack.” Mark waited until Jack was looking at him again. Then, he slowly lifted his arms up and spread them out a little. The ice was still gripped firmly in one hand but the other lay flat and open off to the side; inviting, welcoming. His face was still numb and he hoped it didn’t make his expression too disheartening. He dragged the corners of his lips up, just a little bit, trying to make up for it. In his eyes, there was no fear; he’d braced himself for that initially startling contact. He didn’t move any closer, but he didn’t step back either. Jack was moving forward before he could even voice his request. “Come here. Please? It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

Jack, as always, was so mindful and careful it made Mark’s chest ache. There he was, clearly offering himself and preparing for the hug _he wanted,_ but Jack moved slowly and deliberately anyway. The arms around him were loose. When a chin finally came to rest on his shoulder, it was hesitant. Jack was doing everything within his power to make the action easier on Mark, but Mark could tell how much Jack had been longing for even a light embrace because of how instantly he reacted to the initial gesture. Mark’s heart shifted to aching with guilt instead. Jack deserved _all_ the hugs, even _before_ he started helping Mark. He had to try getting used to them again.

Heedless of his thoughts and feelings, Mark’s body reacted how it wanted. It tensed as Jack got close and remained that way after the Irishman had settled but otherwise, he didn't respond badly to the hug. He had already been focused on his breathing so it was easy to tamp it back down the second it tried to speed up with anxiety. The steady flow of oxygen kept his brain in the best working order it could manage and he was able to slowly release the tension from sections of his body at a time. It was _exhausting,_ but it worked.

Almost matching the pace Jack had used, Mark’s arms dropped down. They looped around Jack’s narrow waist to just lightly hold at first. Once Mark was reassured touching Jack would prompt no negative consequences, he tightened his grip. Their chests pressed together and one of his hands curled fingers into the back of Jack’s shirt. The head on his shoulder was _okay._ It hadn't tried to hurt him; hadn't turned to bite or knock skulls or even whisper horrible taunts into his ear. It was safe.

Mark's hesitation lasted twice as long as Jack’s, but eventually his chin settled lightly on his friend’s shoulder to complete the gesture. From such a close proximity he could feel the untamed floof tickling at his cheek and brow. Subtly, he turned his head just enough so he could get a better hit off Jack’s natural morning scent. Part of him worried it was a creepy habit, but it never ceased to reassure him. His kidnappers and the room never smelled like Jack and on the rainy day of his return, he still recalled the sensation of burrowing into that safety net. Mark would never stop loving it. With all hurdles jumped and Jack’s heartbeat tickling his chest, a majority of the remaining tension drained from Mark’s body. It felt so _good_ to be holding someone again. To _be held._

“You don’t think we have a connection?” Jack asked softly.

The question made Mark’s breath stutter in his chest. He almost closed his eyes, but caught himself with a trickle of fear over what he might see there. Instead, he turned his head a bit more noticeably to keep that little shock of green just barely in his peripheral vision. Like a beacon reminding him the body squished up against his own was safe. His lips twitched down into an uncertain frown. “N-not- I mean, I was talking about like… like a romantic connection, or, familial, y’know…. Things that'd make you naturally inclined to reach out and cling more. That sort of thing. Like with your girlfriends or your siblings. I'm… not, those things, so…. Just thought maybe you wouldn't find me as clingable, I guess.” He paused, then huffed out a frustrated sigh. “And that made absolutely no sense at all, did it??”

“Oh, yeah, no, I get we don't have a romantic connection or anything like that, no matter what the fans say,” Jack was quick to reassure Mark. “But, I mean...we do have _something_. Even if you weren't already my best friend, this whole mess…”

Jack was right. Mark _knew_ Jack was right, but it was awkward to think about because Mark didn't have a name for what _they_ had. It was without a doubt some type of love but Mark felt like he _needed_ to decipher the extra word that was missing; the defining term. Not familial. Not purely platonic either. Not… he shifted gears, because saying it wasn't romantic didn't sit right with him, somehow. His guts were twisting themselves up into knots over the dilemma and he didn't know what to do. Anything else he said felt like it would be inviting a conversation he just wasn't prepared to have. They needed a change of subject.

Luckily, Mark realized one was at hand. _Literally._ He nodded against Jack, just to reassure him that he agreed, that he _knew._ He took just one selfish little moment to nuzzle at the pale skin revealed by a too loose shirt.

Then he was wedging the ball of ice Jack had given him earlier into the waistband of Jack’s sweats to probably freeze his poor tailbone absolutely solid. He snorted, and pulled away in anticipation of the incoming freak out. “Please don't think I'm _cold_ or anything, but I couldn't resist.” Hah. Wade would have liked that one.

Jack _shrieked_ at the sudden ice shoved down his pants, flailing away from Mark and snatching at the bag. “ _Mark Edward Fischbach!_ Fucking _hell_ , Jesus Christ, you bastard!”

Mark, due to his preemptive backing up, managed to dodge all of Jack’s flailing limbs. (Which he did more to avoid an immediate panic attack from an accidental thwack than for fear of actual harm.)

Jack threw the bag of ice at the sink, rubbing his cold ass, but he was giggling. “You're the ice-lover here, Jesus! See if I try to be nice to you again!” Jack was pouting too between his giggle fits.

It was hilarious. Mark didn't even stand a chance. He was laughing, one hand over his mouth while the other braced on his knee, and slightly hunched forward with mirth. His face was a little red but there was only giddiness and mischief in his brown eyes. The fact Jack kept wanting to giggle didn't help, and his words were stuttered out between wheezing giggles of his own. “Awww c’mon, Jack. (Heeheehee.) It was j-just a little joke. (Snerk, huhuhuh.) You made it too easy, h-how could I not?? B-besides, you're laughing! I see you! Admit it, that was good!!” Mission accomplished.

“You...you _ass_!” Jack was still spluttering, but the laughter was winning over the pout. “You...If any pictures of _that_ end up on your Twitter, ooh, payback will be a _bitch_!”

“Yes, I have an ass.” Mark countered though the suave effect he'd been going for was ruined by lingering giggles. He shook his head and held up his empty hands while his lips twitched with the urge to grin like the little shit he was. “No phone. Don't worry. Would have made a great post, though. JackFrigidAss: now with twice the frozen buns for your buck.” He busted up again, even though it was starting to hurt, because it just felt so _good_ to extend these happy moments. To embrace the good cheer while it stuck in his throat and on his lips.

“Just for that, it's _cereal_ for breakfast. See if I'm gonna cook anything for such an ungrateful little prick!” Jack was still laughing.

Wheezing short inhales, Mark leaned back against the counter and tried to regain his breath. His face was red from laughing so hard. “Oh no Jack please, not cereal, whatever has happened to make your heart so cold?” He bemoaned before ducking out of the kitchen just in case a hundred and forty pounds or so of raging leprechaun decided to come after him. “Make me a bowl and I'll love you forever!” He called from the dining room.

“Damn right you will! Gee, I don't know, maybe someone _shoved a bag of ice in my pants!_ ”

“Well that just sounds _terrible!!_ They should be apprehended and made to pay for such a heinous crime!” Mark was tempted to try one of his voices for the lines, but he couldn't muster it. He had barely recovered his own voice. It would take time to remember how he used to flex it- for voices and singing and just plain talking to his fans in all the videos. At least his quip was funny.

“Now who would have done such a thing?” Jack was still chuckling.

“Why only the most fiendish of fiends, surely. Maybe it was those damn badgers.” Mark plopped down into his spot at the table and tapped out a little rhythm on the wood with his fingertips. He knew Jack would grab him a bowl, but he was definitely anticipating some kind of payback. When Jack came out with the tray he wasn't disappointed.

Jack set it at his spot, not offering half to Mark. “What's the magic words?”

Thankfully, payback was in fact _not_ a bitch, but a comedian, apparently. Mark didn't spare Jack for even a second. “Abracadabra? Hocus pocus? Open says me? Or maybe open se _sam_ e? Huh? Huh? No? Well if you get me a hat I can try to pull a Bunniplier out of it.” Honestly, if Jack was expecting any other response, he should have been ashamed of himself.

Jack poured some milk into his coffee, then into his cereal and picked up a spoon. “Nope, nuh-uh, not the right magic words…”

Jack wasn't biting. Yeah, he was enjoying Mark’s jokes, but he wanted a legitimate “magic” word out of him. Guess his butt was still a little frozen. Mark could always make an Elsa joke about it but that still probably wouldn't get him his cereal. _Or_ his coffee. Damn it.

The atmosphere was such a striking difference from what Mark had experienced in the room. It was still a situation where Mark was kind of begging for his meal, but that was the only similarity. The room was too big. Mark was in a chair, at a table. Jack was offering him _actual food_ and coffee. The Irishman wasn't standing over a starving, naked Markiplier and cooing at him to beg for his gruel like a good little bitch. Telling him to lick his boots and instilling Mark with the all too real fear of being kicked in the face again if he didn't do a good enough job at amusing his captor.

Jack was sitting at a table, on equal ground with Mark, tempting him with cereal. The American stuck out his lower lip a bit in a pout but didn't whine (he tried not to, it brought the memories back). Instead, he made a show of twiddling his index fingers together in front of him like some shy schoolgirl about to confess to her crush. “Fiiiine. Pleeeeaaase can I have my breakfast now, oh fabulous roommate of mine? I'm sorry for ruining the hotness of your skinny Irish butt. Maybe if you ask nicely Disney will cast you in their Frozen sequel as an ice prince.” So he made the joke anyway. It was too good not to!

“Hmph. If you'd thrown in a ‘senpai,’ that would have been about perfect.” Jack took his food off the tray and slid the rest across the table to Mark. “There you go, you ungrateful little snowman. Think twice next time before freezing my ass, or I'll bring you nothing but ice next time you need something!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a special thank you to [irontramaway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/irontramaway/pseuds/irontramaway), aka [Rebellious-Exe](http://rebellious-exe.deviantart.com/) on DeviantART, for making some [awesome](http://rebellious-exe.deviantart.com/art/Stare-666219163) [fanart](http://fav.me/db0ncpt)!
> 
> If you happen to make any art based off this story, please let us know! We might even be able to incorporate it into a chapter!
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	56. 6/16: The Great (Pillow) Wall of Ireland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how many pillows does it take to make the appropriate anime reference?

All things considered, the day had gone very well. Jack had recorded his videos fairly early on in the morning, then left the house after lunch to get his hair done.

Mark had survived the several hours alone in the cottage without a panic attack. He spent most of his time in the garden, but dinner was just about ready when Jack returned. The beaming expression on Jack’s face when he walked through the door and smelled good home cooking made all of Mark’s efforts worth it.

After dinner, Jack curled up on the couch with his laptop. At one point, Jack tossed Mark his phone and asked him to take a picture. Mark had rolled his eyes but he could hardly complain about Jack wanting to take a silly selfie. He was practically the poster-boy of that genre.

Mostly, Mark was content to leave Jack to tending his channel or social media presence or whatever it was he happened to be devoting his attentions to. He did a little gaming on his own but it wasn’t long before his body was telling him to actually _sleep_ in his bed. Mark grudgingly complied but squeezed in a quick shower first. The emotional morning coupled with a few long hours working in the garden left him sorely needing one. The hot water stung his bruising face a little but felt wonderful on his muscles.

Showers were getting easier as Mark began to fill out again. The scars were becoming the only abnormality on his body; in how it felt under his hands. He could look at the blur of it and miss all of them when he scrubbed down. He still had to be gentle with his hair, though, and keeping thoughts focused on Jack or Chica or other pleasant imagery was a must for his more sensitive areas. But he hadn't experienced a bathroom breakdown in a long while (it helped the full length mirror was still covered). After all his time spent in the garden, his skin had lost its sickly pallor. It wasn't quite the same golden it used to be, but it was largely improved; healthier.

Mark stepped out of the shower and dried off. Slipping into his pajamas was like sliding comfort and safety back onto his exposed skin. Every layer drew him further and further from the horrors of that room and with bulk returning to his frame, Mark was able to wear some of the old clothes Tyler had shipped over. One of his more worn T-shirts with the first logo of his channel on it- looser than it should be but not falling off his shoulders- and a pair of black pajama pants spotted with little pink mustaches. He was forced to tug the drawstring on them rather tight but was determined to wear them. Mark needed even that slight return to normalcy (barring the collar around his neck) to know that his improvement wasn't just superficial.

Washed, dried and clothed, Mark brushed his teeth and relieved himself before heading back out to the living room. Jack was still there on the couch where he’d left him and Mark felt an edge of nervousness return to his chest. He’d already made his decision about what he was going to ask Jack in the shower, though. It was just a question. He had no reason to fear whatever Jack’s response might be. He wasn’t like _them._

“Hey, Jack….”

Jack looked up when Mark called his name, immediately smiling. “Yeah?”

Mark shuffled from foot to foot, hesitant about his next words. His brown eyes kept flicking between the wood floor and Jack sitting on the couch, while his teeth scraped his bottom lip over and over again. His hands were fidgeting- but toying with Jack’s bracelet, _not_ the collar. He twisted the bit of rubber around his fingers as he opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to figure out the best way to word his request. After several agonizing moments he gave an almost inaudible mutter of _“fuck it”_ and he just spat the words out. “You wanna try sharing the bed tonight?” _Come to bed with me?_

Jack cocked his head to the side. “Weren’t we already gonna try that? Instead of just tea, I’d also bring extra pillows?”

Mark almost facepalmed. Of _course_ Jack wouldn’t get what he meant. He’d been too vague. They’d discussed Jack sticking around later in the night, sure, but not Jack just hopping straight into bed with Mark from the start. He thought he’d mentioned the possibility, briefly, but Jack had been so hesitant about the idea overall. It probably slipped his mind. Mark puffed out an irritated breath that made his lips buzz and decided to try again. (He wasn’t irritated with Jack. Just with himself, as usual.)

“No, I meant… the whole….” Fuck, no matter how he phrased it, his request was going to sound awkward- and suggestive. _God dammit._ “...could you maybe come to bed with me?” **_Ugh._** “As in, uh, now? Right away? If… you’re not busy, I mean. If you’re working on stuff you can just… slip in later, or… or we wait. For when I wake up.” _From nightmares. Which I might avoid if you’re there-_ “It was just… I was just wondering, that’s all.” Mark rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck and immediately transitioned into toying with his collar; as he was wont to do when nervous.

“Oh, like...you think...from the start? Like...from the start? I guess, I mean, it would be easier to...get situated while we were both awake…”

Mark nodded, because how else could he say it? Clearly, Jack was taken aback by the question. Maybe he was pushing this too fast. Maybe Jack had changed his mind. He was struggling with words almost as much as Mark had been and it was hard to watch. There weren’t many occasions where Jack was so nervous it showed- at least, before Mark was kidnapped. Even now, he tended to hide his negative feelings from Mark “for his own good”. He should be happy Jack was being so open right now, intentional or not, but all he felt was stupid for asking. Like he’d crossed some invisible line in his eagerness to have _one more peaceful night._

“I, uh...I mean, I’m not really busy, just comments and stuff…” Jack glanced at his laptop and then rubbed his fingers through his hair. “I can, um…”

Mark shrunk on himself as Jack floundered. Fidgeting became squeezing and rubbing at his collar while he stared at his socks. Mark, regretting his decision, opened his mouth to take it back when Jack finally conceded.

“Yeah, sure. If you wanna go around and rustle up extra pillows for the pillow wall, I can get ready for bed?”

Mark’s head snapped up in surprise; eyes a bit wide. He was met with Jack’s smile. The anxiety that had been building within him like a frigid snowdrift instantly melted in the wake of metaphorical sunshine. (Wow. That was exceptionally gay, Mark’s brain, thank you.) The weight resting on his heart dropped off like the hand on his collar, the latter curling loosely at his side. He internally sighed with relief.

“Yeah… yeah, okay. I can do that. Take all the time you need.” Jack was still nervous, and so was Mark- even if it _was_ his idea. A few extra minutes could help them get their heads together. The corners of his mouth twitched up- once- before he shuffled back out of the room. He went straight to the closet where the extra linens were kept and piled three pillows into his arms; they squished pleasantly as he pressed his face into one. The extra softness and fresh scent warded off any unwanted memories of the room’s padded walls and floors. He only lingered for a moment in the hallway to appreciate it, then retreated to his bedroom so he could build up the fluffy wall. He’d been working on making the wall _just right_ when there was a knock on the door. His head poked up over the pillows to blink at Jack from across the room.

“Hey. Make sure you’re on the same side as your glasses, okay?”

“Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. Right. Got it. Thanks Jack.” The thought would have completely slipped his mind again. Mark set up his side of the bed appropriately; right next to the end table where he set his glasses every night. Chica Junior was pressed between his side of the wall and his own single pillow.

Mark smiled at the little plush, then looked over his handiwork. Not bad. A solid wall that would let him still hear Jack, and probably see him too if he propped himself up. There was _no way_ Jack’s clingy limbs would be getting past that barrier. Satisfied, Mark nodded to himself and slipped beneath his half of the covers. He barely remembered to take off his glasses before settling in.

Then it was just a matter of waiting... and waiting. Mark reminded himself he’d told Jack to take all the time he needed. Maybe he was just using the bathroom. He wouldn’t change his mind without letting Mark know. He wouldn’t just… go back to his own bed, hoping Mark was already asleep. He wouldn’t. _'_ _He wouldn’t,'_ Mark thought with relief when another knock came.

“Mark?”

He relaxed back against his pillow and burrowed deeper into the mattress. “All set. You can come on in.”

Jack opened Mark’s door and flipped off the hall light before coming in. He paused to look over the pillow wall, smiling. “Yeah, that looks pretty sturdy.”

Mark beamed (from his eyes and his face, because it was still hard to do with his mouth) at Jack where his chin poked up over the covers. “Thanks. I _was_ almost an engineer, y’know.” Biomedical, maybe, but some of the concepts were similar. Like building things.

“Yeah, well I _am_ a hotel management expert, and this is a good use of pillows and bed space. Tidiness of the room could use a bit of work, but since it is currently occupied by a guest, you can only do the best you can while working around them.”

Closing the door behind him, Jack made his way to the other side of the bed. “Not doubting,” he said, a faint little smile playing across his face, “but just final confirmation. You sure about this?”

Mark watched Jack and was pleased to note he could still see his face over the wall when the Irishman sat down. The smile sent his way, no matter how small, was reassuring. Little butterflies of nerves stubbornly flitted around in his chest, but he was relaxed enough that he should be able to drift off eventually. The answer to Jack’s question was easy.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. But… uh, if _you’re_ uncomfortable at any time, then…. Th-the same rules apply to you, okay? You can leave. I won’t be upset.” Mark loved that Jack gave him control of his life again, but he didn’t want to sacrifice Jack’s to have it.

Jack swung his legs onto the bed, pulling the duvet up. “I’m fine with this, Mark, really. I mean, as long as you aren’t freaking out, I won’t be.”

Mark’s weak eyes roved over the blurred silhouette of Jack hovering just behind the pillow wall. With his hair freshly dyed a bright, vivid green that rivaled the blue of his eyes, Mark was momentarily starstruck by the sight. There was moonlight pouring in through the window and it framed Jack like some kind of ethereal being. An angel, or a fairy, or a…

 _“Sie sind das essen und wir sind die jager….”_ Mark whispered in a rather spot-on German accent, before ducking his face beneath the blanket to conceal his no doubt childish giggling. There had been no resisting the meme once the thought entered his head- Jack looked like a Titan looming over the wall.

“And on that day,” Jack intoned, “humanity received a grim reminder…”

Mark felt like a little kid at a sleepover when Jack not only recognized the meme, but played right along. Watching the lanky Irishman try to puff himself up into something large and intimidating was hilarious. He couldn’t even come close to triggering Mark with his wild green hair and suppressed snickering. The giant wall of pillows did nothing to make the scene any scarier. Mark just cracked up further, giggles morphing into full blown chuckles as he tugged the duvet down enough to toss out another comment.

“Looks more like a _green reminder_ to me.” Waggling eyebrows and all.

Jack lost it at that, collapsing onto his own pillow (not the wall) with a hearty laugh. He slapped the mattress with his hand. “Arrrrgh! Wall Marcus is holding up against my strength! I’m not skinless enough to get through!”

Between Jack’s raucous laughter, the half-hearted slapping and the continued jokes, Mark found himself giving full belly laughs too. They were rare now, but becoming gradually more frequent as he settled back into his own skin. Here, like this, surrounded by pillows and blankets and a cackling Sean, caution didn’t even cross Mark’s mind. It felt like old times again. Nights spent in hotel rooms or Mark’s Los Angeles home, staying up until the first rays of the sun spilled in through the windows. They used to talk and joke about _everything_ back then; act like a couple of complete idiots. Even if it wouldn’t last long, it was nice to experience that atmosphere again.

When their giggling died down and the room’s silence washed back over them, Mark released a hefty sigh. It wasn’t sad, though. Or angry. It was borderline happy- content, even. He cuddled Chica Junior to his chest and smiled quietly up at the blurry brown beams of the ceiling. “...we are… complete and utter nerds, aren’t we?”

“The completest and most utter nerds that ever nerded. And I love it.”

“Forgot how much I did. Thanks for reminding me.” Mark murmured seriously. Hearing Jack’s body shift against the blankets on the other side of the wall was surprisingly comforting. Sort of like when Mark could feel Chica curled up at his feet. He closed his eyes with a smile still clinging to his lips. Suddenly, he felt like he could sleep for _days,_ and with Jack right next to him he didn’t have the usual urge to peek several times at his window. Just in case. “But nerds need sleep too. Important stuff to do tomorrow.” Not really. “Night, Jack. See you in the morning.” If all things went well.

“Party planning,” Jack agreed. “We need to make sure Thomas can’t possibly say no to us. Good night Mark. Sleep well.”

  
  


 

Sometime later that night, Mark startled awake with a soft gasp. He kicked and squirmed against the duvet for a moment; finding the simple act of rolling over exceedingly difficult in his current frame of mind. When the red blur of his clock came into view he immediately reached out for it, feeling blindly around until locating his glasses. He almost poked both his eyes out in his frantic attempts to put them on but after several failed tries, the world finally slid into clarity. Breathing heavily, Mark took in his surroundings with wide, frightened eyes.

Wooden beams and dark covers. Moonlight still streaming through a single window, much stronger than before. It illuminated the bedroom and allowed Mark to see the details; the differences. He drew a deep, steadying breath and collapsed back against his pillow. He wasn't in the room. He was in _his_ room. Waking up to the pillow wall had thrown his mind for a loop but he'd staved off his initial panic. Quietly, he felt a tingle of pride and accomplishment smolder in his chest. Smiling to himself, he felt around for Chica Junior without really looking. Instead of soft plush fur, his hand fell upon something more solid and smooth- and warm.

Mark blinked. That was weird. His fingers explored the oddity as he turned his head to see just what was breaching their sacred pillow wall.

It was an arm. _Jack’s_ arm. Mark blinked again; stared at it. Just a pale limb poking through the layers of pillows. It was probably touching him half the night. Currently, it was squeezing around Chica Junior, clearly seeking to cling. Mark almost sputtered a chuckle at how silly it looked but Jack was still sleeping, for once, and Mark refused to wake him. Pushing the arm back through might do that. As would tugging Chica Junior away. Mark was at an impasse.

In the end, he did the logical thing. Removing his glasses, he snuggled back down to face the wall. One arm curled up against his chest while the other reached to wrap around his favorite plush. It was a little awkward with Jack’s arm, but he managed it. Silently, he let a scarred thumb brush once more against the expanse of smooth skin. It was almost like holding hands. Mark decided he rather liked the extra “cuddle buddy” and drifted off soon after into a much more peaceful sleep.

Later, when he woke at his usual time feeling more rested than he had in months, he would determinedly avoid acknowledging how he had escalated to full blown cuddling with Jack’s arm at some point in the night. His cheeks were still a light pink as he left the bedroom to get coffee and breakfast going. It was just because he'd been trying to hold Chica Junior, that was all. Jack’s arm got caught up in the middle. Yeah. The fact Chica Junior was halfway down the bed when Mark woke up meant _nothing._ He had made it through the night and not panicked in the morning. The experiment was a success.

That's all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	57. 6/18: A River in Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark struggles.

Mark was nervous. It showed in how hyperfocused he was while prepping dinner; how agitatedly he whipped up the dumpling mix by hand. When he cursed under his breath and had to remake several dumplings he should have been able to form while blindfolded but finally, it was time to just plop the damn things into the stock he'd spent yesterday making from the whole chicken Jack brought home. The broth was stuffed with the tender shredded meat, mushrooms, onions and other delicious tidbits and the smell was pretty amazing. It reminded him of being a child in his mother’s kitchen, learning the family recipe firsthand. Getting told the names of ingredients and equipment alike in Korean. He still remembered a few. Mark wondered if Jack knew any.

The smells and memory soothed his rattled nerves. They helped take his mind off the stranger who would soon step into their private sanctuary. No one but Mark and Jack had been in the house since moving in. Mark hadn't even been forced to spend time with strangers who weren't medical personnel. Technically, _she_ was hired to help him too, but she'd also be having dinner with them. She'd be invading time they usually spent laughing together at the table (not the floor, not anymore, thank god he'd gotten over that). The thought made him anxious, but his fingers found only skin when he reached to rub at his collar. He winced. Right, he took it off because of the hairdresser. A sigh petered out of his mouth; it was only a few hours. Surely he could handle that. Surely.

He fiddled with Jack’s loaned bracelet instead, twisting it around and around until the knock came at the door. Jack went to answer it, of course, and their guest’s bubbly voice drifted into the house.

“Jack! Hiya! I _love_ the house! Oh my god, you _have_ to give me a tour. I wanna see where the magic happens!”

“Hello, Maggie. Mark's finishing up dinner, but I can give you a quick tour.”

Mark ducked further into the kitchen as he heard Jack greet the woman. She sounded cheerful and loud. Past Mark loved energetic people like that. Current Mark…

“I can't wait to meet your friend,” Maggie gushed. “He's the one who made you go green in the first place, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack agreed. “Without Mark, we never would have met.”

“Remind me to thank him!”

“You can thank him now!” Jack laughed as he led Maggie to the kitchen. Mark heard the footsteps approaching and scrambled back to the stove. He stirred the pot’s contents to make it look like he was doing something instead of just standing there fidgeting like a nervous wreck (which he was).

“Mark, this is Maggie. Maggie, Mark.”

Mark looked up as they entered and pasted on a smile for Maggie. She really deserved a genuine one for going out of her way like this, but genuine smiles were hard to give even Jack or his friends and family. At least a fake one would come off more inviting than nothing.

“Hiya, sweetie!” Maggie was casually dressed in a low-cut t-shirt and jeans that hugged her ample curves. Her blonde curls were tied back in an intentionally messy ponytail, and she was holding a bag of her tools. She beamed at him, wiggling perfectly manicured nails in a little wave. “Jack has told me so much about you! Oh my, you really _do_ have a mop-head going on there! Don't worry, hon, I'll get you tidied up in no time!”

Maggie looked exactly the way she sounded. All soft curves and bouncy hair wrapped up in a personality Mark would normally get along swell with. Now, it was just loud and overwhelming. His grip was too tight on the ladle he was using but he didn't break- for now. “Hey there. Thanks so much for coming out and doing this. It really means alot to us. You taking her on a tour, Jack?” He had overheard their muffled conversation but wanted to confirm it. The brief absence would provide Mark with a much needed reprieve to compose himself now he knew what he was in for. “Make sure you show her the garden. It's the best part of the house.” He tried smiling for her, he really did, but it just wouldn't reach his eyes.

“Oh please, I do house calls all the time. It's a treat to get to do someone so _cute_!” Maggie laughed, her hands curling around Jack's arm with a little squeeze. “Usually they're little old shut-ins.”

Mark’s smile twitched at the compliment, but he maintained his composure. It was just a _compliment._ A _sincere one._ She wasn’t mocking him like _they_ did. (Though the comment about “shut-ins” struck a nerve. Mark was _kind of_ a shut-in.)

Jack smiled at Maggie before turning that smile on Mark. “Yeah, I was going to show her around. Dinner smells delicious. Shouldn't take very long. It's not a big house. This way, Maggie!”

Mark gave a little wave as they walked off, then immediately deflated where he stood at the stove. Mark gripped the counter and the ladle as his anchors. He stared down into the pot’s simmering contents and muttered, “How the heck am I ever gonna do this….”

He would need to figure it out. _Soon._ Jack was right; a tour of the house wouldn’t take long. Even if the Irishman had sensed his discomfort and purposefully dragged it out for Maggie, Mark needed to get ahold of himself- fast. Again, he reached for the absent collar, then dropped his hand down to spin the bracelet instead. He could do this. _He could do this._ ** _He could._** Mark had been doing so well the past week. He’d improved a lot from day one of their move. This was the next step. A _big_ step. He just had to remember his breathing, focus on Jack, and he would be fine. **_He would be fine._**

Mark repeated the words like a mantra in his head as he finished up the dumplings. Then his dinner companions were returning, and the next run through skipped like a needle scratching a record.

Maggie leaned against the counter and grinned at Mark. “Jack told me the garden was all your doing! You have a real green thumb! It's beautiful!”

Mark almost jerked the ladle out of the pot. Instead, he dragged out that plastic smile that pulled too tight at his cheeks. “Thanks. I’ve always loved the outdoors. And I’ve had a lot of time to work on it. The weather here’s not so bad.” They’d probably think he was crazy, but the milder temperature was nice; like a cooler version of Cincinnati. Mark would trade clouds and rain for near constantly sweating his balls off any day. “Dinner’s ready, if you guys wanna go sit down. I’ll bring out the bowls.” Just a few more seconds to rein it all in. Just a few more.

Sure enough, both Jack and Maggie gave Mark an incredulous stare. “...I guess it hasn’t rained _that_ much since you got here…” Jack finally admitted. He patted Maggie’s hand on his arm. “Why don’t you go take a seat in the dining room? I’ll get the drinks.”

“Oh thanks, hon! You’re the sweetest!” Maggie flashed Jack another one of those bright smiles before detangling herself and retreating to the dining room.

“You okay?” Jack asked under his breath as he opened a cupboard and began fishing out glasses. “She’s a bit loud, but… I mean, if you need to call it off…”

Mark knew Jack had made up an excuse to stick around and check on him, even before he moved closer. Part of him was relieved because Jack as a person served as a much better grounding source than Jack as a bracelet, but it was also a blow to his slowly recovering pride that he needed Jack’s help at all. He let his smile fall the moment Maggie was out of the room. Jack could see right through it, anyway, so he focused on the bowls he was filling and resolutely shook his head. “She is loud. But it’s fine. It’s just me. I’ll get over it. _I will._ ”

He shifted to bump elbows with Jack; shooting him a side-eye glance. “I’ll be okay. Promise. Just… try to keep me distracted.” Jack was good at that. Jack _always_ did that. He’d need to keep Maggie entertained for now too, but so long as he engaged Mark often enough maybe dinner would work out.

“Kick me under the table or something if you need to,” Jack said, bumping Mark’s elbow right back and angling a smile his way. “And she...she does know that you have trauma.”

“If you have a bruise tomorrow, don’t be mad at me.” There was just a hint of teasing there, but Mark wouldn’t push Jack’s generosity. He’d only nudge him if he _really_ needed to. Like if Maggie brought up said “trauma”- it was a grim reminder that half the world knew about his grievances; his torment at the hands of those men. God, please, do _not_ let her openly pity him or treat him differently because of what she knew. Those were prime reasons Mark still avoided excessive socialization.

Mark covered the leftovers with a lid and slipped some spoons into the bowls. “Let’s go eat so you can revel in my awesomeness again.” This time, he didn’t smile with his mouth, but it briefly glinted in warm brown eyes.

Jack nudged their elbows together again before heading to the fridge. “Coke?” Jack asked as he pulled out two bottles of beer for Maggie and himself.

Belatedly, Mark realized it would be impossible to carry three bowls to the table. Usually, there were only two servings he had to worry about. He frowned a little. “Sure. Help me sprout an extra arm while you’re at it? Don’t think it’d be smart to balance a giant bowl full of steaming hot soup and dumplings on my arm.” If it was a plate, maybe. If it were half a year ago, maybe. He was nearly pouting now.

“Uh…” Jack looked at the two bottles and one can he was holding, then at the three glasses on the counter, then at the three bowls Mark had served. He turned wide blue eyes to Mark. “We done fucked up.”

Mark wheezed. _Well no shit,_ he wanted to say, but he was just too out of it for the usual easy joking and banter that would spawn between them. Jack’s expression was hilarious, though.

Jack set the drinks beside the glasses and started opening cupboards. “Wait, wait, it has to be around here somewhere, it has to be...aha!” Jack clambered onto the counter to reach into the top of one of the upper cabinets, pulling out a serving tray triumphantly. “Ha! And I thought I’d never have a use for this...guess Mum was right.”

Watching Jack scramble up onto the counter was almost as funny as his expression had been- if a little concerning. Mark hovered behind the Irishman, arms slightly raised in preparation to catch him if he fell. Honestly, Jack, they had a _step stool._ “Apparently, she was also right about you having a bad habit of climbing onto things that _shouldn’t be climbed on._ ” Mark understood the woes of being short but there were better ways.

“I know what I’m doing!” Jack protested as he made his way back down. “I do this _all the time_. Jesus, Mark, you’re short too! You can’t tell me you’ve never climbed on the counter before!” Jack slid off the counter and transferred the glasses and drinks onto the tray before he held it out to Mark. “Load me up, Markiplier!”

Mark shook his head with a hint of affection in his tone. “All right, Jacksepticeye, you asked for it. Don’t pull a sitcom and dump the whole thing on our guest now.” He carefully maneuvered the three bowls with their spoons onto the tray and stepped aside for Jack to go first. It would be better for his brain. “So what, I’m the chefiplier here and you’re the septic… butler…? Your username doesn’t make jokes easy. At all.”

“Chefiplier and Jackservereye,” Jack declared with a nod. “We make a good team, Chef. And now we have our lovely dinner guest to entertain.” He headed out of the kitchen to where Maggie was waiting.

Mark just shook his head at Jack and followed him out of the kitchen. At least the brief bout of silliness had helped loosen up his tension a little. Some of it came back the moment his eyes fell upon Maggie sitting at the table, but he took a deep breath and pushed forward. He kept a majority of his attention on Jack as he took his usual seat. It was then Mark realized Maggie had taken Jack’s. Good, that meant Jack could sit between them. Yet for some reason, seeing _her_ in _Jack’s_ spot stung him deep down in his gut. He blamed it on the stranger factor.

“Mm, it smells so good!” Maggie enthused as Jack set her bowl and beer in front of her. “Jack assured me this was the best meal he’d ever had, and I have to say, I did doubt him, but now that I’m smelling it…”

“It tastes as good as it smells,” Jack said. “Mark’s a genius with food.” He set Mark’s dishes in front of him, then his own, and set the tray off to the side. He took his seat and picked up his spoon.

Mark smiled at the compliments, and they scrubbed out the sting. He actually managed to relax a little in the wake of such praise. Praise that had nothing to do with his looks or sexual capabilities, but actual _skill._ “Hey now, c’mon, you’re gonna make me blush here…. Don’t say you love it ‘til you try it. Then you can worship the ground at my feet.” There. That was a joke, wasn’t it? That was good. He was _good._ He could do this. “Careful though, it’s hot. Just ask Jack- he learned his lesson the first time.” Nothing quite so scalding as biting down on a dumpling filled with piping hot broth.

“It’s, yeah. Hot.” Jack already had a dumpling in his mouth, mumbling around the food. Maggie giggled, reaching out to give his arm a nudge.

“I’ll let it cool down a little first!” She opened her beer and poured it into her glass. “Thank you for providing dinner too, Jack. Most of my clients just pay and gab my ear off.”

“Dinner was Mark’s idea.” Jack had given up on his dumpling for the time being. “And the recipe was his too. Really, all I did was the shopping.”

If they were alone, Mark would have teased Jack about making the same mistake twice. Instead, he kept quiet, and shrugged a little when Jack gave him credit. The way to most people's hearts was through their stomachs.

“The invitation was all yours.” Maggie’s fingers squeezed around Jack’s forearm for a moment. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

Maggie seemed to have eyes for something else besides the food set out before her. Or perhaps _someone_ would be more accurate. Mark had no issue whatsoever with Maggie focusing conversation on Jack. It meant there was less Mark had to fake for her, but she was touching Jack an awful lot. It was kind of weird- and awkward. (The sting was back. Why was it back? What even _was_ it?)

“Uh…” Jack glanced over at Mark. “Define meet? I found his YouTube channel and subscribed, then I started making my own stuff. He started following me, and reached out to collaborate...it still took _ages_ before we actually met face to face at PAX. Uh, a convention. Mark managed to pull some strings to get me a last-minute pass.”

Mark felt the need to speak up. “I thought he was gonna explode when I told him about the pass. He’d never even been to the U.S. before.”

“Oh god, yeah! That was easily the best weekend I _ever_ had!” Jack grinned over at Mark. “I mean, I figured I was just going to meet Mark and Bob and Wade, and Yami was gonna be there, but it was really the first time that I got to meet a lot of my community too! People were actually coming up to me for autographs and pictures...it was so cool!” Jack nudged Mark’s foot under the table. “Thanks again for that. If you hadn’t dragged me kicking and screaming over to the States, I probably still would be hiding out over here.”

The smile had returned to Mark’s eyes as Jack verbally reminisced. Mark nudged back with his foot and let the memories come. Pleasant ones of meeting Jack, hanging around with their friends and introducing the little Irish goober to his American fans at the convention. The first time they hugged. The sting had melted away again into a warm puddle of goo and he savored the sensation. Mark finally dug into the cooled soup. Lord, did he ever miss his mom’s cooking.

“It’s still so hard to think of you as _famous_ ,” Maggie said with a shake of her head. “I mean, you’re just Jack! I get to dye your hair!” She reached over, running her fingers through the green. “You make it look good. A lot of guys who go for the bright colors tend to come across as douchebags, but you’re too much of a sweetheart.”

“Ah, thanks.” Jack looked back to Maggie with his smile, not quite as bright as when he was reminiscing over his very first PAX. “It’s really become one of my ‘things,’ like the hat and the screaming. And the Irish. Though there are still people who doubt I’m genuinely Irish. If the accent doesn’t do it, you’d think the skin color would!”

“He needs to tan, don’t you think?” Maggie asked Mark. “At the very least a spray tan. A golden glow will make you look so _healthy_! Look at Mark! He’s all tan!”

“That’s also natural,” Jack pointed out, but Maggie brushed it off with a wave of her hand.

Again, a moment between Mark and Jack that usually would have gone unspoiled was thrown out of whack by Maggie. Mark tried to ignore how irritated she was suddenly making him. It had to just be the abnormality; like when she touched Jack’s hair. Perfectly normal for them, but out of place for Mark. _That_ was why the acid in his stomach felt like it was bubbling around the food he’d just consumed. It was his own clinging to the familiar and routine tripping up his emotions, yeah.

Let’s see, what made his lip want to curl more? Maggie saying Jack’s lovely fair skin needed a _spray tan of all things,_ or Maggie flippantly waving him off like an unimportant outlier? Why not both? Mark ground his teeth together a moment before plastering that tight smile back onto his face. The fingers on the handle of his spoon had tightened a bit. “I think he looks fine the way he is. I mean, tans aren’t for everyone. And artificial ones can be pretty unhealthy. If he’s happy with things I don’t see any real issue with it.” His smile gained some sincerity when he turned it on Jack. It felt nice to support his decisions and be a good friend. _Best_ friend. (It had nothing to do with snubbing Maggie. Nothing at all.)

Jack took the opportunity to stuff a dumpling in his mouth, returning Mark’s smile. “Sorry, Maggie,” he said after swallowing. “Mark’s right. I’m not really the tanning sort of guy. And even if I _was_ , and I _did_ get a tan, my community would _freak out_. Best case scenario, they’d all demand to know where I went vacationing. Worst case, they’d accuse me of trying to actually _be_ Markiplier.” He shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

“What, you tanning or you actually _being_ Markiplier?” Mark teased, suddenly unwilling to let Maggie rule the table conversation. Still, he tried to tone down the weird aggressive urges he was feeling (passive-aggressive, thankfully) as he received more compliments. ‘ _See? No reason for me to be riled up. So she's a touchy-feely, opinionated person. That doesn't mean she's bad.’_

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Maggie sighed, picking up her own spoon once both of them had started eating the dumplings. “Mm, this _is_ delicious. You were absolutely right, Jack!”

“Told ya Mark’s the best!” Jack grinned at Mark again.

“So, is this what you do on your channel?” Maggie asked, turning her blue eyes to Mark for one of the first times all meal. “Cooking shows?”

Mark’s thoughts were promptly derailed by her question. Luckily, he'd only just raised his soda can to his lips, so he didn't physically choke. He just sputtered. Six months ago, Mark would have faked Maggie out as a prank. Boasted about hosting the largest cooking channel on YouTube then showed her his Chefiplier or Chef Dog video. Jack would've gotten a kick out of that too; it already looked like he was on the verge of busting a gut.

Maggie reached over, patting Jack on the back. Maybe his distress wasn’t just from suppressed laughter. “You okay there, sweetie?”

Jack nodded, a slight flush to his face. “Yeah, just...don’t laugh and eat at the same time!”

Now, Mark felt oddly self-conscious. Like he'd lost at something he didn't even know he was playing. It was disconcerting. He watched Maggie check up on Jack after his near death experience and felt that old sting returning with a wicked vengeance. The soup tasted bitter in his mouth. “Aw what, Jack? Don't think I could do a cooking show? Have some faith, would you?” He shook his head, trying to keep his tone light and teasing. Part of him didn't want to and _that_ concerned him even more _._ “Nah, I don't do cooking stuff. At least, not seriously. I primarily switch between vlogging and let’s plays. Jack’s done a bunch of collaborations with me and some of our other friends.” For some reason, saying that felt _really good_.

“I've seen your idea of a cooking show!” Jack reminded Mark. “It was amazing, but amazing like a train wreck!” Maggie giggled, and Jack turned to look at her. “Mark’s one of the top Let’s Players on YouTube. He's the one who inspired me to get started, like I said.”

“Oh, that's right!” Maggie grinned, though her smile was aimed more at Jack. “And he inspired the green too!” She flicked Jack’s fringe and looked over at Mark. “I was going to thank you for that! It's how Jack and I met, after all. He was going to go all-green, but I convinced him that just the top would look better.”

The rest of dinner passed in much the same way, with Maggie talking mainly to Jack and Mark growing more and more tense despite the distraction. Jack kept his foot pressed against Mark’s beneath the table and kept pulling Maggie’s attention back whenever she looked to Mark.

Yet Maggie hadn't come over just for dinner. After they all finished, she went for her bag of tools while Jack set a chair in the middle of the living room for Mark. “You gonna be okay?” he asked after Maggie excused herself for a quick bathroom break before getting started.

“Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’ll be… I’ll be fine. Just get it over with, right?” Mark responded a bit distractedly. He tried to smile for Jack, but it failed before it could even reach his eyes. At least it wasn’t the brittle plastic one he’d been shooting Maggie all night just to be polite. Fidgeting with the bracelet again, he plopped a bit too heavily into the chair. He knew he was anxious about the haircut, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing on his mind anymore. For some reason, as if thoughts of a stranger weren’t bad enough, thinking about _Maggie specifically_ touching his hair made his metaphorical hackles rise. It really wasn’t fair to her.

That didn’t stop Mark from feeling it. The irrational distaste; the urge to be petty; how something would burn deep inside his core whenever she touched Jack. (And _boy,_ did she ever love touching Jack.) At the back of his head, a tiny voice nagged that maybe, _just maybe,_ he was jealous. Said voice was dropkicked faster than he could blink. Mark had no reason to be jealous of Maggie. Especially not in regards to Jack. He was far closer to Jack than she was. Hell, they _lived_ together. _She_ was the invading party-

There went that horrible train of thought again, holy shit. Mark decided to just stop thinking; like he used to do in the room. The only problem was that tended to send him off into the vacant headspace Jack was always so terrified of. A place he hadn’t visited in weeks. In the room, he’d always had something to ground him and bring him back. He’d always had… _god dammit,_ why did wearing a dog collar have to be so negative?? He subconsciously scratched at his neck for the umpteenth time that night, oblivious to the expression he wore which was no doubt puzzling Jack: furrowed brows, pinched forehead, slight frown and a glare aimed into empty space. He probably looked constipated. (Emotionally and mentally, he kind of was.)

“Yeah, uh-huh, I believe that.” Jack sat on the floor at Mark’s feet, crossing his legs under him and resting his arms on his knees.

“You’d better.” Mark huffed. Of course Jack wouldn’t believe him.

“I’ll be right here, whatever you need. You want me to talk, I can talk. You want me to hold your hands, I can hold your hands. You want to put a show on the tv, I’ve got tons of anime. We’re gonna get through this. It’ll be okay. Maggie’s nice, and she’s been very respectful of your boundaries so far...right?”

Mark glanced down at the Irishman as he offered up a plethora of options and his frown shifted to something more akin to a pout. Those all sounded well and good, but they’d do little to dispel the negative whirlpool of feelings he strangely had for Maggie. She’d probably be yammering the whole time herself. The frown swiftly returned at that thought. Mostly because Jack was right, and Mark really had no reason to be so upset with her. “...yeah….” he muttered grudgingly.

Jack leaned forward to get into Mark’s eyeline. “Do you need Chica Junior?” he asked.

Mark’s gaze flicked off to the side at the mention of Chica Junior. Yes, he would _love_ Chica Junior, but that sense of self-consciousness lingered. Old Mark wouldn’t have batted an eye at cuddling a plush dog in front of complete strangers but now, it felt like he would be letting Maggie win _again_ at something he _still_ couldn’t give a name to.

Jack’s eyes suddenly widened, and he smacked his hands against his knees. “Want me to put the collar _on_ Chica Junior?” he asked Mark. “It’s not so weird if a stuffed dog is wearing it, and then you can hold CJ and have it and...maybe it’ll help?”

Mark had been about to refuse without really wanting to when the sudden smack made his head snap back around; startled. He just sort of stared at Jack with a dumbfounded expression after he verbalized his miniature revelation. Put his collar- Chica’s collar, it was _Chica’s collar-_ on the stuffed dog? That didn’t resolve his issue at all. (And a very small part of him instantly dug in its heels at the thought of rescinding possession of the accessory.)

He scratched at the back of his head, where Maggie would soon be messing around with comb and scissors. A twinge passed over his face at the mere thought. He really _would_ love his collar right now. Maybe it would take his mind off it all, and Jack said Maggie knew about his trauma, so maybe she wouldn’t judge him too much for the security “blanket”. At the very least, he could touch his- _damn it, damn it,_ ** _Chica’s_** \- collar again. Mark wasn’t entirely comforted or convinced, but he eventually gave a nod. “I… guess that could help. Better than nothing, I suppose.”

“I’ll go get it right now,” Jack said, popping to his feet. “Don’t let her get started without me here.”

“No worries about that ever happening….” Mark mumbled under his breath with such a ferocious bitterness he almost frightened himself. He took a few deep breaths and combed fingers through his hair in some effort to rein himself back in. _‘Easy there, Mark. Easy.’_

He was _almost_ successful in regaining his calm when _she_ returned to the living room first. Fan-fucking-tastic. Mark’s brown eyes quickly opened. He turned in the chair to watch her like a hawk. It was harder to put on his facade with Jack absent. His inclination to push himself had decreased dramatically with the space only filled by Maggie and himself and he hoped he wasn’t glaring.

Maggie looked around the living room. “Where’s Jack?” she asked Mark, opening her bag. She pulled out scissors and comb and a spray bottle, and then unfolded a cape. “I thought he was going to be sitting in here with us.” She shook out the cape and then showed it to Mark. “Ready to put this on, to protect your clothes?”

“He went to grab something from my bedroom. To help keep me calm.” Mark didn’t bother with details; she would see it soon enough anyway. His eyes scanned each item as she brought it out. The scissors were the only tool that gave him pause. The Ship Sinker had preferred knives for cuts, but he _had_ used scissors once. One of numerous reasons Mark was so anxious about getting a haircut. He stared at them as if they were a snake just waiting to strike when he least expected it. Instead, his attention was dragged to the cape, and he felt his breath growing short all over again. Logic be damned; he was going to feel _stifled_ under that thing. Its material was similar to the tarp. His arms would be stuck, even if Jack wormed his hand in under it. There was no chance it could avoid triggering _something._ He shook his head without even thinking about it. “No, that’s okay, they’re gonna get washed anyway. I’ll pass.”

“Jack is such a sweetheart!” Maggie cooed. “He’s really had a rough few months. I’m glad things are working out okay for you. I remember when he came in without his usual smile, oh, we were all so worried, and when we found out about you...we prayed for both of you, all the girls at the salon.”

 _‘I am a fucking asshole and need to take the literal biggest chill pill in existence,’_ Mark thought dejectedly while listening to Maggie gush. Beyond touching Jack too much, there was seriously _no reason_ he should hate her so much. She was one of the nicest people he could recall meeting and it was no real wonder Jack liked her. His stomach roiled with guilt. He was the absolute worst. Maggie and Jack were both doing their best to make this whole process easy for him, and he was busy internally freaking out over a problem without a name. He felt like a sulking child again and Mark hadn’t felt like that since the hospital. He was reverting.

“Yeah, he is….” Mark eventually sighed. He’d thought about Jack during those months a lot, both in and out of the room. How it must have been for him; how Mark would have felt were their situations switched. It must have been terrible. It was precisely why he tried to be so concerned about Jack’s needs and feelings as well as his own. It was a slight comfort to know there were still people who had worried for him in Mark’s absence; people who were actually a part of his daily life. Mark glumly stared down at his clasped hands. “...thanks. I really… appreciate that, Maggie.” He did, even if that smoldering part of himself hated to admit it.

“It’s so good to see him smiling again.”

“See who smiling?” Jack asked, returning with Chica Junior, a pink collar around her neck. He offered her to Mark, resuming his spot on the floor in front of him.

Mark looked up in relief, though his eyes immediately went to Chica Junior. His heart ached a little to see his collar on something else, but the fact she looked utterly _adorable_ in it helped some and he almost made grabby hands before remembering they weren’t alone. Needless to say, Mark squeezed the little dog to himself the moment Jack handed her over. The results were nigh instantaneous. Tension eked out of his shoulders and a soft sigh escaped him. Silently, he rubbed at her fur with a thumb and tweaked the collar between his fingers. Maggie’s teasing even managed to slip right past him- just this once.

“You, silly goose!” Maggie laughed, folding up the cape again. “We’ll go without the cape today. Did you want to try a towel around your shoulders? Ooh, does your little friend have a name? She’s so cute!”

Mark scritched behind the fake doggy ears out of habit, brown eyes glued to the toy in his lap. “It’s… Chica Junior, she’s supposed to be like a toy version of the real thing. My dog. Chica, she’s back in L.A. right now, so Jack got me this in the meantime….” Mark took a moment to shoot Jack a grateful look; catching his smile. Then he subtly removed a hand from Chica Junior’s fur to extend it across his knee towards Jack. A little extra grounding couldn’t hurt. “I think I could do a towel.” Okay, maybe he _could_ do this. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Oh, that is so sweet! Jack, you are so sweet!” Maggie beamed at Jack, who merely shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

“I’ve met Chica. She’s incredible. Of course I had to get Mark the toy when I saw her...Mark, why didn’t we call her _Toy Chica_? Like Five Nights at Freddy’s 2?” Jack slapped himself in the forehead, and on his way back down, caught Mark’s fingers with his so his hand didn’t drop fully. He gave Mark’s hand a little squeeze, smiling warmly at him.

Mark couldn’t even be upset with Maggie about how she cooed over Jack. He _was_ sweet. Well, maybe he could have gone without all the gushing in his ear. He hugged Chica Junior a bit tighter, then squeezed at Jack’s hand in turn. Jack’s miniature epiphany had him scoffing softly. “Are you trying to give me nightmares about a mannequin Chica chasing me down? I’ll have to pass on the irony and pun potential this time. Besides, she already has a name. Can’t just change it now.” Even if she was a toy. To Mark, she might as well be the real thing.

“Ugh, why can’t more guys be actually thoughtful like that?” Maggie shook her head, digging out a faded towel from her bag. “It looks splotchy from bleach, but I promise it’s clean. I wash it every time, stylist’s honor.” Maggie draped the towel around Mark’s shoulders, overlapping it behind his head. “How’s that, sweetie? Not too tight?”

The towel forced him to take a few deep breaths, but Mark managed to maintain his calm. It helped that it only fell to mid-bicep and she was extremely careful not to touch his neck or shoulders. (The hair was inevitable; he had already braced himself for it.) “Nah, that’s fine.” Maggie was honestly doing a lot more than Mark thought she would to make certain he was okay and comfortable. Even before his subtle distaste for her formed, he had expected the hairdresser to just go about her business like he was nothing special. He hardly wanted to be treated like fragile stained glass, but a little extra caution and care was welcome. He squashed down the odd negative feelings she had spurned. The least he could be was amicable in return.

“Now, I don’t like to cut hair dry. Wet is far more manageable. But I know giving you a wash first is out, so I brought a spray bottle. Just water inside.” Maggie showed it to Mark. “We’re going to try that first, okay? I’m going to saturate your hair, and then I’m going to trim it up. Jack gave me some pictures of how you usually get your haircut, and I’m going to do my best to match that style, unless you want something else?”

“All right. You can just do the style he showed you, I kind of miss it. I don’t even know how else I’d have you cut my hair, I’ve had it like that for so long. Just, uh… try not to pull on it too much?” Mark’s voice pitched a hair upwards since he knew it was a weird and tricky request for someone who was about to have her hands all _over_ his hair, but the scissors were bad enough. If she started jerking too much at the strands Mark had no doubt he would begin to panic- Jack and Chica Junior or not. His fingers found the little collar again. Warm brown sought bright blue as he pulled in a breath. He just had to keep track of his breathing and he would be fine.

“Let me know if you need a break!” Maggie trilled before she began spraying Mark’s hair.

Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers again and gave him a smile. “So, speaking of Chica and horror games...I’ve kinda been putting off telling you about this because I didn’t want to drive you _too_ crazy, but...Resident Evil: Biohazard came out. It’s _incredible_. Definitely the sort of horror game your channel thrives on., so...there’s that. And I wonder...I mean, obviously you can’t do a terrifying horror game without a face cam, but maybe just recording gameplay is something we could try doing again? Or even just, you know how in everyone’s collaborations _but your own_ , only one person’s cam can be seen? If you wanted to do some collabs with me, we could get things set up. I mean, we could even edit the videos for your channel if you wanted to try that.” Jack shrugged. “It was just a thought, trying to figure out how to get you some content back.”

Mark flinched at the first spray; again at the second. Yet with each spritz it got easier, and his brain realized he wasn’t under attack. It was just a little water. His hand had tightly squeezed at Jack’s the moment Maggie began, so now he worked to release some of the tension in his fingers. He hoped he hadn’t hurt Jack’s fingers. Exhaling the breath he’d been holding, Mark forced himself to take another, and another. He focused his attention on Jack’s words and actually tried to register them for once. The conversation was kind of important, even if it primarily served as a distraction.

“ _Fuck._ I just went and missed all the good game releases, didn’t I? Fuck.” Another game Mark had been looking forward to before the convention where it all went wrong. He was so behind. He knew his fans had eagerly anticipated his playthroughs too. “Resident Evil doesn’t really have a lot of jump scares, right? I mean, it’s not based on them or anything. It’s more gorror I think; with the zombies and stuff. I think I’d be able to do that. Especially if I wasn’t actually on camera….” Mark could get used to jumpscares again; they hadn’t really been used against him in the room. Then again, there were some mannequins used in the demo if he remembered correctly. He might need to ask Jack about it before actually playing the game. At least if he wasn’t on camera, his fans could still be amused by his screaming. More than likely, he’d host about the same level of innate terror for horror games that he’d always experienced and Jack was right: his fans _would_ love it.

Mark needed to start doing things for the fans again. More than just a couple of selfies and tweets. People followed him for his _content;_ for his _channel._ The social media was just extra. If Mark wanted to keep doing what he loved, then he would need to get back in the game. One way or another. He sighed. “I think… just gameplay recording would be a good way to get me back into it…. I could play some games that are really about the visuals; focus on the commentary so no one would mind a missing face cam. And… the collaboration idea, that sounds good too. Even if it’s my voice showing up on your channel, it could draw people back in…. It’s better than nothing.” Nothing was the current status. It was time for a change.

“Or,” Jack said, starting to smirk, “you _could_ revisit old games like Vanish with no face cam. _That_ would make people wet themselves with disbelief and joy and all kinds of giddiness…”

Mark pulled a face. “Christ, what is it with people and me playing that?? I told them I beat it. Why won’t anyone believe me?!” It wasn’t that Mark _disliked_ the game. He just wasn’t feeling it and thus didn’t want to make more videos of it, since he might not necessarily be giving his all. It would be disrespectful to his fans _and he already_ ** _beat it,_** _god dammit._

Maggie set the bottle aside and picked up comb and scissors. “All right, sweetheart. I’m going to start now. Let me know if I’m tugging too hard!”

Maggie chirped from behind Mark again and he tensed a little- right. The haircut; he’d almost forgotten. Mark filtered a quick breath through his teeth and gave a quiet nod. “Okay.”

“You can use my setup whenever I’m not,” Jack said. “Or we could set something up to record the tv down here. I’ve never actually done that, but I bet...hmm, if we set it up so we played Overwatch on the same screen or something, we could totally use the excuse of ‘no facecam because we suck at couch recording’ and use the footage for your channel. Or Prop Hunt, you can’t go wrong with Prop Hunt, especially not with Bob and Wade.”

“Oh yeah, my setup isn’t here.... damn. Well, the TV thing could work. Gives us more opportunity to make a bunch of Game Grumps jabs. I don’t know how long I have to stay in Ireland but I could piece together something simple so I don’t need to constantly _jack_ your setup….” Mark quirked a brow at his own teasing pun. “But God, _Prop Hunt._ That is _exactly_ the kind of game I need to get back into the swing of things…. And it would be great to play with those two again. Just like old times.” The four of them screwing around in Prop Hunt together were some of their most popular collaboration videos. There was nothing triggery in there… well, maybe the melee weapons, but they could figure it out. Everyone preferred guns and explosives anyway.

For the most part, Mark was… okay. He wasn’t as jumpy or anxious as he’d anticipated. Loathe as part of him might be to admit, Jack and Maggie deserved an equal amount of thanks. Jack had chosen the _absolute perfect_ topic to distract his brain from honing in too much on the person snipping around his head. Mark’s channel was _important_ to him and he wanted to get it back on track, but Maggie’s skilled hands only tugged too suddenly once or twice at his sensitive hair. He could feel every action, and the snips were too loud in his ears, but he never once felt pain or even physical discomfort. He was just unsettled a little. Every time a slip would cause a shudder to rattle down his spine, he would squeeze at Jack’s hand. His fingers were locked more around the collar than the toy in his lap, but one way or another the combination got the job done. He didn’t have a panic attack.

“Probably at least another month,” Jack said. “If you want to build something, we could...there _is_ a shop in town with parts, or we could just order online. We can set something up on your desk, or get another desk for the recording room as long as we’re not _recording_ at the same time.” Jack huffed a little laugh, looking away from Maggie to grin at Mark. “I can just see one of us trying to edit while the other is shouting into our mic. We might not be the best YouTubers to _share_ recording space… We’ll figure something out.”

Mark snickered a bit and reveled in how the sound covered up the snips of the scissors leaving their mark. “Personally, I think it’d be great to have such a prime opportunity for recording-bombing. Y’know, like _photo-_ bombing but not with pictures. Both our communities would eat it up. Of course, that _also_ gives you the chance to peek at my screen and cheat if we collab….” His tone gained an edge of suspicion but he was unable to keep a straight face. They both knew _Mark_ had a higher chance of peeking. Still, the idea was nice. Better than just using Jack’s equipment or doing makeshift content with the television. They’d have to look into the details later.

“Yes, exactly what I was thinking!” Jack giggled. “We’ll just have to stay on the same team if we collab. It’s the only way we can be fair. Or play games where it’s really not cheating to look, like Rocket League. Looking at your screen there wouldn’t help at all.”

“Moving to your side, hun. You’re looking better already.” Maggie shifted around to Mark’s side, combing through the too-long hair that hung in his face. “Look straight ahead please.”

Mark looked up at the request out of habit, then looked back down at Jack. _Oops_. He forced his gaze upwards, only for it to twitch down- he pushed it up again. A bit of strain and anxiety entered his face. Mark could still listen to Jack, but he’d been using the Irishman’s appearance to help with the distraction; roving across familiar features over and over. It was more difficult to get lost in Jack’s rambling if he was just staring into space. No focal point made it easier for his ears and brain and attention to shift inward, backwards, to the fingers pulling at fluffy strands and scissors snipping too close. Mark forced himself to stare straight ahead but sucked in an almost inaudible, tight breath. The knuckles on the hand gripping Chica’s collar turned white. Still, the scissors went _snip, snip, snip_ and he could feel it; the razor thin scars on his thighs and biceps where his kidnappers had messed around, possibly out of sheer boredom. He was starting to feel sick again.

Jack’s rubbed his thumb over Mark’s fingers. His voice got louder. Jack was still trying, he _was,_ and Mark could hear the sounds of a conversation he was no doubt making a valiant attempt to continue but it was just that: sounds. He’d lost track of the words; of Jack’s mouth forming the syllables. The Irish-tinted babbling mixed in with the scissors to create something terrible. His blood ran cold, and at some point his breathing had picked up. Lose track of one thing, lose track of the rest. Jack’s calloused thumb and gentle squeezes felt distant to Mark- as if there were several layers of wool between their hands. Jack was still talking. Probably said his name. Yeah, sounded like his name. He should look at Jack then, but Maggie said to look forward. What should he do? His grip on his surroundings was slipping and-

“Mark? Mark…”

The sound stopped. Mark belatedly realized the scissors and fingers had retreated. Besides Maggie’s higher-pitched burble off to the side, Jack was now the only sound reaching Mark. He latched onto it. Onto his… his name, right. Mark. Mark was his name. That was his hand, and Jack’s hand, and there was Chica Junior still resting snug against his stomach. He hugged her close. Clarity seeped slowly back into eyes that had been flitting around in confusion; seeing something different, seeing things blended. The room came back into focus and Mark looked down. _Jack_ came back into focus. He breathed.

“Sean.” He had to say it. Feel the name on his tongue; acknowledge his best friend’s presence. He numbly squeezed Jack’s hand back. Color began filtering into his face as he took shaky breaths. Had he stopped breathing? _Shit._ Mark drew a few deep ones to compensate, and his heart slowed a little. He squeezed at Jack’s hand again, blinking. “I… I’m… sorry. Sorry, I just… I lost it, sorry, I…” _‘I lost you.’_

“That’s right, Mark, I’m here, I’m right here.” Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers again, sagging a little. “It’s okay, Mark. You’re doing so much better than we thought you would. And you didn’t fall too deep. It’s okay. Do you need a break? Want something to drink, or… I think you’re almost done. Just the bit in the front left.”

“Probably no more than ten minutes,” Maggie offered.

“I-I am?” Mark questioned; tone a little incredulous. He thought about his behavior as he fully settled back into his skin. They’d only been forced to stop once. Mark _hadn’t_ fallen into a full attack. He’d actually been doing an excellent job of ignoring Maggie and her task’s existence. Maybe Jack was right. “I… I guess I am.” It felt good to admit. That he was doing better than he would have weeks ago, in the hospital. Little reminders of his improvement. Silently, he interlocked fingers with Jack. For a brief moment, Mark really didn’t give a damn if Maggie noticed. He needed that. He needed to think. What would help him muscle through those last ten minutes?

Jack laced his fingers through Mark’s, pressing their palms together and smiling up at him.

After only a few seconds, something came to mind, and Mark almost wanted to snort. Jack was going to give him _such_ a smug look but he knew it would help. He knew it would settle his nerves and give him that necessary component to focus on. He’d just have to drink twice as much coffee to make up for it. “Could you maybe, uh… make some tea? While I calm down? I think it’d help…. Then, we should finish, I just want to get it over with.” Maggie may have been doing a _stellar_ job but that hardly meant Mark was enjoying the haircut.

Jack’s smile _did_ turn just a tiny bit smug. “And you doubted the healing power of a good cuppa,” he chided Mark lightly.

Mark blew a raspberry at Jack with his lips. “Just got in the habit, that’s all. Like you and coffee. Shush.” Truth be told, he’d been missing their midnight tea breaks. Mark didn’t regret the lack of nightmares- or at least, ones serious enough to warrant waking Jack, but their late night conversations over rapidly cooling tea had almost become a ritual. In the dimness, with only moonlight serving as a light source and shrouded in soft blankets, Mark felt more comfortable opening up to Jack; spilling his guts about fears and dreams alike. It was those quiet, close, tender moments he longed for on occasion. They just weren’t as easy to replicate during daylight hours.

“Maggie, would you like a cup?” Jack asked, squeezing Mark’s hand and tearing his gaze away to look up at the stylist.

“Oh, that sounds perfect!”

“Mind giving me a hand? Three mugs is a bit much for two hands…”

Maggie smiled warmly at Jack, setting her tools down. “Of course not!”

Jack got to his feet before he untangled his fingers from Mark’s. “Five minutes,” he told Mark. “Then I’ll be back, and we’ll have a tea break.”

No time like the present to bring tea time back. Granted, without the soul-bearing conversations. Light chit-chat would do just fine with Maggie present, though the breach in their personal “ritual” made that particular part of his brain throw a hissy fit. He ignored it. She had been nothing but understanding and cautious while fixing his hair. She was allowed to have a damn cup of tea. Even Mark knew it would be ridiculously rude to just sit there drinking it in front of her. He sighed softly and gave a nod. “Okay. I’ll be fine.” He would. Mark wasn’t so anxious anymore and he could cuddle Chica Junior up against his chest with both arms now. When they retreated to the kitchen, he pulled his feet up onto the edge of the chair as well. Bits of black and red hair slid down his jeans to pile up in his lap and he stared at them. Would he look like he used to after the haircut? Or would it do nothing? Mark hoped Maggie was good at going off of memory.

He could hear Jack’s usual clattering accompanied by a low murmur of voices. It was an odd change for his ears but did its job well. His mind didn’t drift to the room or kidnappers again. He remained firmly in their living room with a towel draped around his shoulders, Chica Junior in his arms and a lapful of his own hair clippings. He thought of a few fans who would pay good money for them and nearly laughed at the creep factor. They were going in the trash; too short to donate, unfortunately. Quietly, Mark petted Chica Junior and listened to the hum of muffled voices.

By the time Jack and Maggie returned he had zoned out a bit. However, it was a more natural slip from focus and he regained it the moment Jack’s familiar footsteps reached his ears. His expression softened at a sight his heart had been longing for.

“Here you go!” Jack quipped as he resumed his seat on the floor in front of Mark.

“You’re a fucking treasure, did I ever tell you that?” Mark finally released his death grip on the poor toy to take a steaming mug and breathed in the warm scent for a moment. Instantly, a pleasant shiver soothed along his nerves. Best idea.

“I think treasure is a new one,” Jack said, settling back down cross-legged. He took a sip of his own tea and grinned up at Mark. “Don’t let your revolutionary ancestors hear you say that over being brought a mug of tea, you silly American. Unless you don’t actually have revolutionary ancestors. Americans are _weird_.”

“I’ll have to use it more often.” Mark teased before scoffing quietly into his sip of tea. He shook his head. “Seeing as my mom’s from Korea and dad’s ancestors were probably just immigrants, nah, I’d say I don’t have any ‘revolutionary ancestors’. If anything, the Korean ones would be happy I’ve converted and the German ones are still too busy losing their shit over my inability to drink alcohol.” He never hesitated to point out the irony in his mother’s genes snubbing his father’s like that. “So, who’s gonna sweep up all my dead hair?”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll bring out the hoover after Maggie goes home. It’s mostly contained, and this room could… probably use a hoovering anyway…”

Maggie giggled into her tea. “So, how _does_ that work with two bachelors? All the cleaning and stuff? Obviously, Mark can cook, but...who scrubs the toilet?”

Mark was smiling behind his mug, because he always thought it was cute how Jack referred to the vacuum as a “hoover”. Yeah, that was the brand, but it wasn’t the _invention._ People from the British Isles were so _weird._ Then Maggie was piping in, and for once Mark didn’t feel a sting of irritation. Perhaps it was because she was actively engaging them both instead of only Jack. “What? We’re supposed to _scrub_ the _toilet?_ ** _Holy shit!_** Jack, did you know that??” He tapped into some of his dramatics for the first time all night and gasped softly. His palm slapped lightly against his cheek as he directed a stunned, appalled expression to his roommate.

“My sister told me to put a little bleach tablet thingy in the back of the tank. Isn’t that enough?” Jack’s eyes went wide above his mug, mirroring Mark’s mock horror right back at him. “Do we actually have to _scrub_ it?”

Jack playing along with their little charade reminded Mark about exactly why they were best friends. Thinking back, it was pretty incredible how he managed to get so close with someone living halfway around the world, but Jack and himself had just clicked. Be it the first time Mark got interested in his videos or their first collaboration. Meeting up with Jack at the convention simply sealed the deal and besides it leading up to the whole Septiplier fiasco with the Ship Sinker, Mark didn’t regret any of it for even a second. He also wouldn’t let one singular event, life changing as it may have been, spoil such a close, important friendship. That was the Ship Sinker’s entire goal; but Dan and Phil had survived it. Jack and himself could too.

“Oh my god,” Maggie laughed. “ _Please_ tell me you’re just joking with me! I _used_ your toilet!”

Jack slowly looked away from Mark, fidgeting with the handle of his mug as he glanced up at Maggie. “Um...about that…”

“ _Oh my god!_ ”

“Yup, we know better!” Jack grinned. “Don’t worry, we even cleaned it special for having a guest over. _And_ the sink. And we washed the towels too!” Jack elbowed Mark gently in the shins, turning his grin back up to his housemate as Maggie cracked up. “We’re pretty not bad at this being responsible adults thing! Our mums would be so proud…”

Mark had kept up the clueless expression until Jack finally showed mercy and spilled the beans. He chuckled low and soft under his breath, but it still counted as a laugh. Maggie’s reaction to their ruse was simply too hilarious.

“So you scrubbed the toilet,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “Which one?”

Jack pointed at Mark. “I hoovered and did the laundry. We don’t divide up the chores or anything like that. It’s just...whoever notices and doesn’t pretend to ignore it first gets stuck with it. Seems to work pretty well for us.” Jack didn’t do the dishes more than once a fortnight, but Mark cleaned them more often. On the other hand, Jack hoovered a lot, so Mark never had to worry about crumbs on the floor (though sometimes Mark dropped things on purpose just to be a little shithead). Everything else ended up fairly evenly split up.

“Still gotta pick up all your dirty mugs though.” Mark was quick to point out after Jack made such an effort to build up their “responsible adult” cred. It was his turn to bump Jack’s hip with his toes.

“Yeah, well, I’d do it _eventually_ if you didn’t. What’s the point of having so many mugs if you don’t use them all?” Jack caught Mark’s foot when he was nudged, giving it a light squeeze and pat before letting go.

“Jack, we _literally_ almost ran out that one time.” Mark reminded; wiggling his toes in Jack’s brief grip.

“Literally _almost_ ,” Jack said, holding up a finger. “Almost means we didn’t _actually_ run out. Which means I was doing them the right amount of time!”

Mark sipped at his tea with a slight hum and shrugged. “Used to scrub toilets at home. Had to keep it up when I got my own place. Chica wasn’t gonna do it for me. I’m used to cleaning up after myself. But yeah, Jack _always_ vacuums- sorry, sorry, I mean _hoovers._ ” He snorted in amusement. “He’s got like a suction fetish or something, I dunno. It’s almost concerning.”

“It’s not a _fetish_ ,” Jack protested. “I just like the shshkchch of stuff getting sucked up the hose. Really satisfying, you know?”

“Mmhmm.” Maggie nodded her agreement. “It adds another sense to the cleanliness. You not only _see_ that it’s clean, but you can hear it too.”

“ _Exactly!_ See, Mark? It’s not weird! Maggie agrees with me!” Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark, getting a laugh from the stylist.

Mark almost snorted into his tea again when Jack immediately countered his “fetish” claims. The little sound effect he made didn’t help. In the end, Mark rolled his eyes at the both of them from behind a gulp of tea. “Irish people. Always a mystery.” He did peek around his mug to stick out his tongue right back, though.

“Well, I have to admit, this is certainly the cleanest house without a woman that I’ve been in. You two do seem to have a handle on things.”

Jack shrugged. “Like Mark said, we’re both used to cleaning up after ourselves. We’re not _complete_ slobs.”

“‘Complete’ being the key word there ‘cause I know for a fact Jack only cleaned his room up today since he knew you were coming. Usually there’s clothes everywhere.” Before Jack could sputter and spill something about Mark’s own dirty habits, he figured it was only fair to throw himself under the bus _for_ him. “And I track dirt and mud in the house. _Constantly._ Gives Jack an excuse to _hoover_ but he throws a little hissy fit every time it happens anyway.” Mark probably spent way too much time in the garden.

“Oh god,” Maggie repeated, shaking her head. “ _Men._ ”

“Eh.” Jack shrugged, lifting his mug to his lips. “We work well together.”

“I can see that!” Maggie laughed again, giving a shake of her head that made her ponytail bounce. “Well, to be fair, women aren’t exactly neat all the time either. My bedroom’s pretty much a disaster zone too. Clothes everywhere.” She winked at Jack, who grinned into his tea.

“Clothes aren’t _dirty_ , anyway,” Jack said. “They’re just messy. Clutter is different. It’s okay.”

Mark rolled his eyes again. _“Men.”_ He comically agreed with Maggie- for once. Then he snickered almost inaudibly into his tea. Jack was bad enough with trying to justify his negative habits all on his own. Maggie supporting them was the last thing they needed. He shook his head. “Dirt and grime are gross, yeah. But clutter is _dangerous._ How many times have we _both_ almost tripped and busted our asses on things left just lying around? I’ve _seen_ you slip on a shirt, Jack. You nearly rammed your head through a wall. Then who’d make us tea, huh? I’m _American,_ Jack, it’s blasphemous for me to try.” Didn’t stop him from drinking it, though, and he drained the last remnants all too eagerly.

Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark again. “That was _one time_!” He shook his head, finishing off his tea and holding out a hand for Mark’s mug. “I promise, I won’t kill myself with clothes and leave you to make your own tea. _Promise_.”

“ _One time_ is enough.” However, there was a hidden smile in Mark’s lips as he passed off his empty mug. “I’ll hold you to that, Sean McLoughlin.”

Jack set their mugs aside and glanced over at Maggie before turning back to Mark. “You ready to try again?”

“I’m good whenever you boys are!” Maggie set her own tea aside and stood up, reaching for the scissors.

Settling his hands around Chica Junior again, Mark let his legs slide back to a normal resting position. He straightened up in his seat so Maggie’s cut wouldn’t be crooked. Glancing between Jack’s reassuring expression and the scissors in Maggie’s hand, Mark released a pointed exhale that would hopefully expel any lingering anxiety and tension. Then he gave a resolute nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s finish this.”

Jack reached up for Mark’s hand again as Maggie picked up the spray bottle to re-wet Mark’s hair. After a few squirts of water, she ran the comb through his fringe and began snipping away. Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers. “So, where did we leave off? We were going to start looking into building you a computer tomorrow. One with an Irish power supply so you don’t need a converter…”

The rest of the haircut passed without incident. The tea had bolstered Mark’s self-control, and he didn’t sink too far into his darkness before Maggie was stepping back. “All done! Don’t you look handsome again!”

Jack cocked his head to the side as he looked up at Mark. “You look younger. Like early 2015-you. Not shark-fin hair you. Not _quite_ baby Marki...fart.” Jack squeezed at Mark’s fingers.

Mark was beyond relieved when they were finally done. He sagged in the chair with a sigh that sounded as if it seeped from his entire body as whole and not only his lungs. He squeezed Jack’s hand back and sat up again. “My head feels lighter. Holy crap.” He hadn’t realized just how much excess hair was flopping everywhere. For once, when he turned his head, everything stayed naturally in place. No dark strands fell into his eyes; nothing tickled at his ears. Mark’s face lit up a bit. He felt almost normal again. “Hey now, I looked handsome before!”

He _knew_ he must look better, though. Floof yes, shaggy no. Mark scraped fingers through hair that finally felt healthy again. His next sigh was happy and almost giggly. “R.I.P. that damn hair, may it never come back. I can deal without dye for a while though.” Color was more superficial. The fact Mark had his signature fringe-and-floof back was good enough for him. He shook up the front, combed it back and quirked a brow down at Jack. “So what you’re saying is, I’m classic sexy again?” He nearly winked. _Nearly,_ but Maggie’s presence held it back.

“Definitely classic Markiplier. Your fans are going to _love_ it.”

Maggie unwrapped the towel from Mark’s shoulders and used the end to dust clippings off his shirt. “Stand up carefully, and I’ll brush you down so you don’t go traipsing hair all over your house.”

Mark wrapped a hand around Chica Junior and pushed himself out of the chair. Bits of red and black floated to the floor and he shook himself down out of habit before Maggie could significantly help; sending more bits flying. “Aw, but then Jack would have _so much_ to vacuum! You’re gonna break his heart here.”

Jack stood up after Mark did, coughing and laughing as a clump of hair hit him in the face from Mark’s shaking. “Ack, watch what you’re doing!”

“But Jack, you always said you _loved_ my hair.” Mark’s expression turned cheeky and he resisted the urge to giggle at the light swats to his clothes and skin. Now the trial itself was over, he had to admit he’d never felt better. Who knew how much help a simple haircut could be to his confidence and wellbeing? Mark almost felt like a new man.

“You would be amazed at where hair can end up,” Maggie said, twisting the towel so she could swipe at Mark’s shirt and jeans with a damp part of it, to better twitch the hair off the fabric. “Even doing this, he’ll still get to hoover the whole house.”

“You should take a selfie tonight,” Jack said. “Just to show them what difference a haircut makes. Man, we thought you looked good when you got out of hospital, but this, this goes above and beyond that!”

Mark beamed without a smile at Jack. “I think I could manage that. Maybe we’ll get one together. Y’know, since you just got your hair done too.” It would be a little odd standing next to Jack’s bright green with nothing adorning his own hair, but the fans would love it all the same.

“Stand still, Jack, you’re all hairy too.” Maggie moved to swipe at Jack next, brushing the towel over his face and making him giggle.

Mark’s heart got a bit melty at the sound. He wished _he’d_ been the cause of it. Reaching out, he dusted a few more strands from the Irishman’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t judge him, he just wants to be Bigfoot for Halloween. He’s getting his costume ready.” His fingers lingered a moment longer than strictly necessary, but he failed to notice.

“Okay, boys, I think that’s us all done!” Maggie stepped back with a smile. “I’ll pack up, and then I can leave you two to the rest of your evening.”

Turning to Maggie, Mark gave her as much of a _genuine_ smile as he could manage. (Which really just amounted to some crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but at least it wasn’t fake.) For all the irritating moments, she was a really cool person who had done her best to make them both comfortable. Everyone wouldn’t be quite so patient with Mark. Plus, she gave him the opportunity to have some more memorable moments with Jack (and make dumplings). He was beyond grateful. “Thanks again for coming. You were great. I’ll be sure to give you _lots_ of credit in my selfie.”

“What time is it?” Jack pulled out his phone, making a little face. “Uh, I can walk you to the bus stop, Maggie? It’s getting dark.”

Maggie grinned brightly at Jack. “I’d appreciate the company. Oh! Here, let me give you…” She pulled a business card out of her bag and a pen, scratching a phone number on the back. “There, that’s my personal number, if you need to schedule another cut for Mark. Or, you know, anything else you may need.”

Jack looked at the number when he took the card and nodded. “Okay, cool. Thanks, Maggie! We’ll probably call you again if Mark stays here long enough.”

Mark didn’t think _too much_ of Jack offering to walk Maggie back. It was getting dark, and they were out in the middle of nowhere. Just because it looked safer didn’t mean it actually was. Besides, it would give him time to play around in the mirror for once without risking Jack catching him and immediately poking fun. Nor was he surprised by the business card. It was the extra scrawl of numbers on the back and Maggie’s mention of _“anything else you may need”_ that caused the return of the sting from earlier. Mark tried not to frown as he felt it bubble back into being within his stomach. Did Jack _really_ need her personal number? What did she mean by “anything”? ‘ _Why am I getting so worked up over this?!’_ It didn’t make any sense, but he was still aggravated. He almost floofed up his hair but then Jack would _know_ something was wrong, so he just crossed his arms over Chica Junior and imagined himself lighting the card on fire instead. Ah, such therapeutic imagery. “Yeah. Totally. You guys should get going before it gets any later.” More like Maggie should get gone and Jack should hurry home, but Mark could hardly say _that._

Jack grinned as he tucked the card away, and Maggie finished zipping up her bag. “Ready?”

“Yep! It was great to meet you, Mark! Thanks for dinner. It was delish!” Maggie curled her arm around Jack’s again and picked up her bag.

Mark forced himself to loosen up one arm for a wave goodbye. Maggie was _leaving._ She’d be out of his hair (literally), and the feeling would go away, so he might as well see her off on a good note. “Nice meeting you too.” _Kind of._ “Think nothing of it.” _Not really though._ “Buh-bye.” _Good riddance._

“I’ll be back soon,” Jack told Mark, glancing at Maggie’s arm around his. “I’ll help clean up dinner when I get back. Lock the door behind us?” He led Maggie to the front door, picking up his keys as he went.

Mark loathed his toxic thoughts and couldn’t wait to be rid of them. He nodded to Jack. “Be careful. Don’t fall in a ditch or get attacked by wild badgers or anything.” He watched them go, and felt the familiar tug in his chest. He always got it when Jack left the house, but it felt _stronger_ this time. Was it Maggie? That still didn’t make any sense. Mark shook his head. He just needed to stop thinking about it; about _her;_ about **_them-_** nope, not thinking about it. He was going to go take a look at his hair, and _enjoy it,_ damn it. Sexy, flirty hairdresser or not- **_damn it._**

Stubbornly, Mark took a moment to put the chair back and then hurried to the bathroom. For the first time in months, he was _excited_ to look in the mirror. He set Chica Junior down on the sink and leaned in. “Holy shit. I _do_ look younger. I didn’t think that was possible.” If he’d asked Maggie to give him the shark fin again, would it have the same effect? No way. That was _years_ ago. Besides, Mark used to _hate_ that look. He’d never put himself through it again on purpose, no matter how much his fans would squeal and coo over it.

He combed fingers through his hair, switching between hands in tandem. It flowed quick and easy around his digits. Black strands feathered into place like they were always meant to be there and nothing had changed at all. The damage to Mark’s scalp and follicles had healed long ago, but now, the improvement could be _seen_ and _felt_ without his wild mane weighing it all down. He reveled in the familiar sensation. “Floof the hair for power!” he whispered. Giddy and smiling at his reflection in the mirror, he was blind to the little scars. They were the only abnormality now. His color was coming back, the fullness to his cheeks, and his hair sat perfectly over his forehead. He looked like the _old Mark._ He looked like nothing bad had ever happened. He looked… _normal._

First came the sniffle, then the hitched breath, and finally tears were slipping down Mark’s cheeks. It was like eating real food for the first time again; the positive emotions just crashed into Mark like a tidal wave. There was nothing he could do to wade through them all so they came gushing out of his eyes in dozens of wet rivulets. He snuffled and hiccuped as he swiped at his face with his sleeve. Thank god Jack wasn’t there. Mark felt like _such_ a baby, but only Chica Junior bore witness to his happy breakdown. Quietly, he hugged the little plush dog to his chest. When he composed himself again, he would leave the bathroom to start cleaning up the aftermath of dinner. For the moment, he stood there in front of the mirror and briefly felt whole again.

_‘One step at a time. Just one baby step at a time….’_

A while later, Mark heard the front door open and close. “Mark? I’m back!” Jack called out.

“In the kitchen!” Mark called back automatically. He’d already cleared the table and put away the leftovers. Now he was in the middle of washing dishes. Chica Junior had yet to leave his side. She sat next to the sink wearing her little collar simply because Mark felt okay, for the moment. He knew he’d be putting it back on before bed at the very latest but for now, he let her wear it. It was cute. Thoughts of Maggie and even the emotional scene in the bathroom had left his mind in favor of humming some new hit single he’d heard. It was stupidly upbeat and catchy and just about framed his good mood _perfectly._ “You didn’t get attacked by those badgers, did you? If you did I’ll have to track’em down and kick their fuzzy asses!”

Jack wandered into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. “Next to swans, badgers are some of the most feared wildlife in Ireland,” he informed Mark. “You shouldn’t joke about kicking their asses. They’ll kick right back. Need a hand drying?” He pulled away from the door.

Mark gave a dramatic groan. “Aw, c’mon, Jack! At least have faith that I can kick _something’s_ ass. Besides your own, I mean. Support my growth of confidence!” He rinsed off a bowl and extended it towards Jack. “Yes, towel boy, please come help clean up like you promised.” He turned to shoot Jack a teasing look but paused. A furrow entered his brow. His best friend was pink in the face and clearly shaken by _something._

“You keep picking scary ferocious creatures! Mark, incredible though you may be, you are not an animal wrangler!” Jack picked up a towel and took the bowl from Mark, beginning to dry it.

“...what happened.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and a solid one at that. Mark wasn’t going to take a shrug off or lame excuse from Jack. If Maggie did _anything_ to make him uncomfortable it would be _her_ ass he was going to track down and kick.

Jack went redder. “Um.... nothing?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed a bit. Not so much because he was upset with Jack, but more because Jack was trying to dodge the question. He put down the ladle he’d been scrubbing and turned to fully face his roommate. What would be so bad Jack wouldn’t _immediately_ vent to him about it? Or at the very least, admit to it when prompted? Maybe Maggie _had_ done something. Just the thought made his blood boil; it didn’t matter _how_ nice she had been. There was a frown pinching at the corners of his mouth as he tried again.

“Jack. Tell me what’s wrong. You look like you’re either about to throw up or pass out. Did something happen on the walk home? Or the walk over? Did Maggie do something?” There it was. Mark didn’t care if it was a bit prickish. Jack was avoiding the question, so he had the right to offer up his guesses.

“I’m not...it’s not that bad!” Jack protested.

“ _What’s_ ‘not that bad’?? Jack, _what happened?_ Why aren’t you telling me?” Jack’s reassurances that things were alright and that whatever happened _wasn’t bad_ only made Mark all the more suspicious; and a little hurt. Jack often tried to hide his emotions from Mark, but those emotions usually had to _deal_ with Mark himself or something _relating_ to Mark because he didn’t want to make Mark feel bad. This was something else, and Jack wasn’t telling him. He maybe felt just a little snubbed and overtly concerned.

“I’m fine, Mark, really, I’m okay. Nothing happened. Nothing you have to kick anyone’s ass over. Or any _thing_ ’s ass.”

Jack had actually _closed his eyes_ and looked _pained_ for a second or panicked. Mark hated it. He hated it more that Jack was trying to hide the cause. He shook his head and took a step closer. “Jack, no you’re not. You’re _not_ okay. Just tell me what’s wrong so I can _help you._ You were _fine_ before you left, so **what happened?** ” His tone of voice clearly conveyed Mark refused to budge on the subject any time soon.

“You’re overthinking it, Mark,” Jack said.

“Only ‘cause you won’t _tell me._ ” Mark nearly whined.

Jack smiled a little. “Maggie...kissed me. That’s it. I wasn’t...exactly expecting it, and she just kinda...yeah. It’s _nothing_. I’m _fine_.”

That smile unsettled Mark more than anything, and he understood why when the Irishman caved. He blinked. “She… she _kissed_ you?” His brain stuttered to a grinding halt for a few seconds and he couldn’t quite comprehend the meaning behind those words. Maggie had kissed Jack. She _kissed_ him. Probably _on the lips,_ which was why Jack was so flustered. Maggie kissed Jack _on the lips_ and he was _fine with that._ The sting returned with a vengeance and for the first time without Maggie being present. There was a bitter taste at the back of Mark’s tongue.

“Yeah, she just...I dunno. We were talking about YouTube and waiting for the bus and she just…” Jack gestured vaguely towards his face and sighed. “And then she got on the bus and I came home. End of super exciting story.”

Maggie kissed Jack and he was fine with it. Flustered, surprised, confused- but _fine._ How could he be fine?? Was his cluelessness all night an act? Did he _know_ Maggie had been flirting with him and was just playing hard to get? Was he _excited_ at the prospect? Mark’s guts roiled beneath his stomach and bound themselves all up into knots. In seconds, all those thoughts and emotions passed through his mind; scarcely showing as even a twitch on his face. He stared at Jack like he didn’t know who he was looking at anymore and then it was all smoothed away as he leaned back; took a breath.

“...right. Right, okay. Okay… if you say so. Whatever then.” The words were as stiff as his body language when he turned back to the sink. Numbly, he stuck his hands into the soapy water to pick up where he left off. He washed the dishes almost robotically and didn’t really pay attention to his actions. Fine. _Fine._ If Jack wanted to go around kissing his stylists then he could do that. Mark wasn’t his keeper. Mark had no ownership over those lips or any other part of Jack’s body. If anything, Jack should be at _more liberty_ to do whatever he damn well pleased with Mark anchoring him down constantly. He had no right to be offended or pissed off in Jack’s name, no matter how much of a hollow worry the thought of Jack and Maggie hooking up implanted within him. He wasn’t humming anymore.

Jack sighed again, leaning over to bump his elbow against Mark’s. “Hey. I told you it wasn’t badgers. You don’t need to worry about avenging my honor or anything like that.”

 _‘Stop talking about it, stop talking about it, please for the love of god I don’t want to know, I don’t want to hear it, Jack,_ ** _shut up.’_** Mark scowled at his own thoughts but now that he _knew_ the problem, he just wanted to stop thinking about it. There was nothing else he could do. Anything he said would come off as him being an asshole for no reason and he could hardly explain the emotions he’d been feeling all night. Now he was just getting all the extra details he’d never wanted to hear about in the first place. He scrubbed a bit harder at the pot he’d used; channeling the negative energy bubbling beneath his skin.

Yet Jack was bumping elbows with him and it took every last smidgen of Mark’s self-control not to turn a glare on his own best friend. He bristled very much like a cat nonetheless. Biting the inside of his cheek, Mark stared harder at the dishes between his hands as if he could just zap off all the traces of food or disintegrate them entirely. Belatedly, he realized Jack had been carrying on the joke; he probably should have laughed. Oh well. It would have been too obviously fake if he forced it. Mark wasn’t even sure if he could risk talking right then. The agitation was buzzing through his veins and into his head like a swarm of angry bees. If he opened his mouth, they’d all come flying out and Jack would get stung- just like Mark was. Mark kept his mouth shut and only grunted softly in response. A few more dishes, then he could say he was tired and go to bed.

“Mark?” Jack tried again, hesitant. “Mark, are you...I’m not...it didn’t hurt me, Mark. In any way. I was startled, but not…”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

Mark dropped the words like a lead weight and instantly regretted the tone he used, but there was no taking it back. There were worse things he could have replied with. It was best to just put his foot down and end the conversation before it could get carried that far. Before Jack could sound anymore… anymore… Mark didn’t even have a _word_ for it, but he didn’t like it. Mark was making Jack nervous and uncomfortable with his internalized anger. Hell, Mark couldn’t blame him. _He_ felt uncomfortable about it, yet it was happening. He had to do as much damage control as possible- before there was any _real_ damage.

What else could he even _say_ to that, though? Jack thought he was upset about the questionable consent and maybe he was, but that couldn’t be all. Mark could _feel_ there was something else there, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. So he ignored it, and he ignored Jack’s continued reassurances because _they weren’t what he needed._ **Mark** didn’t know what he needed. He just felt tired all of a sudden; tired from his own whiplash of emotions. The situation weighed heavily on his shoulders and it was an effort to finish the last piece of silverware but he did it, and then he drained the sink and dried off his hands. His face was blank when he moved past Jack and it carried into the deadpan of his voice. His eyes, however, swam with that tiredness and disappointment and a strangely resigned acceptance. He snagged Chica Junior at the last minute, as an afterthought, because he wanted his collar back on.

“I’m pretty tired. Think I’ll just go to bed; call it an early night. Don’t worry about joining me right away. I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t fine, but he could pretend he was.

“Oh...okay. I’ll...finish up here and...see you tomorrow?”

It hurt Mark not to respond, but he feared what might escape his mouth if he opened it again. He just kept walking; eyes set and grip tight on Chica Junior. He barely caught Jack’s last words as he practically fled from the kitchen.

“Good night…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	58. 6/18: New Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's made his bed, but that doesn't mean he has to lay in it.

Mark didn’t sleep. After getting ready for bed, he crawled beneath the covers and laid there for an undetermined amount of time. He never bothered looking at his clock. He didn’t flinch when he heard the distinct sound of Jack’s padded footsteps passing by his door, or the distant click of Jack’s own being shut. He wasn’t allowed to be upset or hurt because he’d brought it upon himself.

But he cried. Mark only cried once, but he still did it. Early in the night, when his anger and inner turmoil did their best to rip him apart from the inside out. He cried out of frustration and guilt; from disappointment he couldn’t source and the sensation _he_ was the one who royally fucked up. ‘ _No, no,’_ his brain would argue, ‘ _Jack was the one who fucked up.’_ Maybe they _both_ fucked up. Maybe Mark was finally going crazy. Perhaps all that hair was the only thing tying his sanity together with its knots and curls.

Now he did sound crazy. At some point, Mark rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. His eyes unfocused and he delved into his mind. He flipped through memories, good and bad, seeking a name to his feelings; the pangs he would get when he imagined Maggie kissing Jack, when he recalled her hands constantly touching him throughout the evening, how she made him giggle. It burned in his stomach like acid but he found _nothing._ Not even his tormented emotions from the room matched up. He was left with a situation that still made no sense and an even more depressed mindset. Mark had no idea what time it was.

Jack wasn’t in the bed. There was no stray arm to cling to or quiet breathing to set his heartbeat with. Only near silence. He pulled Chica Junior up against his chest and dragged nails gently through her fur; scritched along her spine and behind her ear the way Chica always loved. He imagined her tail thumping happily against his legs. He could almost feel wet doggy kisses on his face and his breath shuddered in his lungs. He wouldn’t cry again. Chica was alive, and he should be grateful for that much, no matter how badly he wanted her there by his side.

Moonlight was bathing everything in his bedroom a bright white by the time Mark’s thirst got the best of him. Must be around _that_ time. His body was too accustomed to their ritual. If Mark slept, it wasn’t an issue at all. Since Mark was awake, even if it wasn’t because of a nightmare, his body expected a quenching reprieve (and an adorable little Irishman). Huffing an exhausted breath, Mark forced his body out of the bed. Jack wasn’t going to make him anything, so he’d just have to do it himself. Give his body what it wanted so he could go back to wallowing. He almost forgot his glasses, but the fact he couldn’t find the door stopped him from getting much further without them.

It was at about two in the morning in the Irish countryside when Mark realized something. He fucking _sucked_ at making tea. It wasn’t even the hard kind of tea with leaves and a kettle! It was _just_ tea bags! But the first one he grabbed split open, and the second go around he ended up spilling hot water on his hand. His brain wasn’t functioning at a high enough level for this. When Mark had the thought of just picking up the mug and chucking it at the wall, he knew he had to stop. Except now he’d gotten to smell it, he wanted tea _even more._ He was stuck. He needed help.

That was precisely how Mark found himself outside Jack’s door at about 2:15 A.M. He shuffled from foot to foot, eyes burning from lack of sleep, and tried to convince himself Jack wouldn’t hate him for his behavior earlier. That the heartbroken tone he’d heard in his best friend’s voice was exaggerated by his own guilt. Besides, Jack had _Maggie._ Why would he be hurt? Mark shook off the potentially disastrous train of thought and quietly pushed the door open. If Jack was in a dead sleep, Mark would just deal; crack open an iced tea or something. When Mark peeked into the room, he immediately spied blue eyes that were quite open and almost as bloodshot as his felt. Mark was stunned for a moment, then frowned a little.

“Jaaaack…..”

Jack frowned, lifting his head off his pillow. “...Mark?” Jack reached over for his phone, then looked back at his housemate in alarm.

Mark’s guilt hit so much harder when Jack was looking at him with that concerned face, after he’d coldly snubbed the other man earlier. Now Mark was crawling back, seeking his assistance. Mark felt disgusted with himself. He had no idea what was wrong with him to make him behave in such a way and he could only hope Jack would forgive him- later. When he had the appropriate cognitive abilities to form a proper apology. Right then, in the wee hours of the morning after tossing and turning for hours with his own toxic thoughts, Mark just wanted routine; normalcy. The nightly ritual they hadn’t needed in _days._ Mark wanted Jack to make him tea and sit up with him and sing him softly to sleep. To chase the demons away- _all of them._

“Is everything okay?”

Jack looked as if he’d been fighting his _own_ demons and Mark’s guilt became almost physically painful. He had no doubts Jack’s concern and confusion had been keeping him up. It was all Mark’s fault and now there he was, standing in the doorway and daring to drag Jack’s attention back. ‘ _Selfish.’_ His gaze dropped. He could lie and say he had a nightmare. He had quiet ones, but Mark didn’t feel he deserved an excuse. He should just spit out what he needed and get it over with, for the both of them. Anxious and guilt-ridden, Mark gave a tight swallow. “I… yeah. Kinda? I guess. I just… I was wondering if you could maybe… I….” He rubbed at the back of his neck and shook his head. “...could you make tea? Please?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Mark sagged with relief when Jack readily complied with his request- but of course he did. Jack would toss himself in the river if he thought it would help Mark. It was flattering and endearing and just a little bit worrisome, if he was to be honest with himself. Their therapists would hate it, but Mark didn’t really know how to fix their growing codependency. It was like one of those posts a person read on Tumblr. Mark relied on Jack almost as much as he relied on oxygen, food and water and Jack _needed_ Mark to rely on him; to feel validated because of his own guilt. It was a poisonous back-and-forth that wasn’t going to end well and maybe that evening was a sneak peek into the future of their relationship. God, Mark hoped not. For the moment, he tried not to feel too awkward about Jack not even hesitating to rouse himself for Mark’s sake. His efforts were made easier- harder?- as Jack tossed back the duvet.

Jack sat up fully, but hesitated. “I’ll, uh...let me just put some pants on?”

“Oh.” Mark hadn’t _meant_ for the little gasp to be audible, but there it was. Jack had gone to bed alone and hadn’t bothered with the usual nightclothes to keep Mark comfortable, so he was just in a pair of boxers with moonlight bouncing vividly off his pale skin. Mark felt his own drain of color, then heat up as he hurriedly turned away. “Uh, y-yeah, yeah sure, go ahead, sorry-”

Mark spent the next minute or two wrestling his emotions. His anxiety had spiked straight through the roof at seeing Jack’s naked body because besides his own, the last naked bodies he’d seen were his kidnappers. When they were naked, he was always in for the worst sessions, but Jack’s body was starkly different from theirs. Lanky and slim with lean, wiry muscle and naturally fair skin the Irish were kind of known for. He wasn’t even fully “naked”; he’d had on a pair of boxers. There were words on them, probably something funny, but Mark had turned away too quickly to grasp the joke. Yet while he worked on breathing to tamp down his near panic attack, more positive emotions were making his heart skip and stutter in his chest.

Mark hadn’t seen Jack in his underwear or trunks in months; maybe even a year. He forgot how cute the sight was, especially when Jack’s hair was all rumpled and ruffled from the pillows. Mark’s face was caught up between paling and flushing. The conflict of emotions was almost enough to make him dizzy.

“It’ll just be a few minutes. I can bring it to you.”

Jack was speaking again; calling him back to the real world. Mark internally shook himself so he could turn back to his roommate and he’d never been more grateful to find someone clothed. “O… okay. Thanks. Sorry if I uh… if I woke you or anything. Seems like I’m just too stupid to figure out the whole tea thing.” He tried to joke, even when they _both_ knew Jack hadn’t been sleeping. He hated the atmosphere between them; loathed how he had to tiptoe because the floor was scattered with metaphorical emotional landmines.

“...seriously, Mark? It's not _that_ …” Jack shook his head, a fond little smile on his face. “I'll show you how to make it tomorrow, you silly American. For now just...just wait here, okay?” Jack’s smile grew. “You didn't wake me. I...couldn't sleep.”

Mark _knew_ it shouldn’t be an impossible task, okay Jack, he was just tired and worn incredibly thin. Simple tasks currently escaped him. Besides, Jack _always_ made it perfect. Why settle for less? (He probably would have ended up with bitter tea leaf dust in lukewarm water.) Still, he felt abashed, and ducked his head a bit. “Okay….” Jack’s confirmation he’d been tossing and turning all night made Mark’s guilt bite back with a vengeance. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and waited for Jack to leave before emitting a soft groan. “I’m such an idiot.”

He’d really fucked up. Chasing Jack out of his bed didn’t matter much, because Mark had been the one to ask for his presence in the first place. Yet if his actions were affecting Jack enough to disturb his own sleep… he was awful. Mark felt like the lowest of the low; the scummiest of the scum. Jack deserved better than his childish mood swings. He should have just sucked it up earlier and put on a happy face for him, but Jack deserved better than _that_ , too. Which left Mark stuck.

Sighing, grunting and basically making about every quiet, self-deprecating noise possible, he slipped further into the bedroom. Mark had been in it before, just never at night like this. Jack always came to _his_ room. In the moonlight with all the covers rumpled, Jack’s bed looked _incredibly_ inviting. Curious, he placed a hand on the sheets and- yeah, still warm. Maybe he could...

Mark had planned on just sitting down. Really, he did, but his body rebelled and turned the motion into a full blown belly flop onto the mattress. It bounced lightly beneath his weight before settling. It was also _perfect-_ at least, in that moment. Mark had a faceful of Jack’s pillow and it smelled like his shampoo. The tangled duvet embraced his tired body like an old friend. With Jack’s scent and body heat all over it, the blanket kind of was. Mark practically melted. He knew he should get up, or move, because this was _Jack’s_ bed. Jack would want it back. His body refused to cooperate. It had settled in for the long haul. Mark might even be able to drift off like this, but he knew Jack would be returning with the tea soon. Maybe he’d just close his eyes for a bit, then…

“Did you fall asleep on me? Mark?”

Footsteps and the clink of ceramic on wood filtered in through the back of Mark’s mind as he floated in a lulled daze, but it wasn’t until Jack spoke that he actually stirred. He grunted, fingers twitching where his arm hung off the bed, and mumbled something unintelligible into Jack’s pillow. After a few seconds, he realized Jack would have no idea what he said. Simply turning his head a few inches to face Jack with skewed spectacles and glazed brown eyes was one of the hardest things he had ever done, he was _sure_ of it. “No. Sorry. I can move…” There was no way Jack would want him in his bed after that fiasco in the kitchen.

“Budge over,” Jack said, reaching to fix the angle of Mark's glasses. “Let me back under the warm blankets.”

Mark wasn’t sure, guilt still eating him up on the inside, but he sluggishly wiggled over anyway. If Jack said it was okay- but of course he did. _If Jack said it was okay,_ then Mark would stay. He knew deep down that was truly what he wanted. The tea was just a means to an end. Maybe Jack wanted it too, or maybe he was just pitying Mark and trying to help him feel better. He tried not to decipher the differences between the two and merely flopped out on the other side of the bed. Mark would have stayed there, just like that, completely boneless if Jack hadn’t offered him a mug of steaming hot tea. The fact it had flowers on it almost made him smile. “Thanks….”

He forced himself up but remained on his stomach, propping his upper half with elbows so he could sip at the tea. It also helped him avoid looking at Jack directly while his gaze shifted between the murky depths of the beverage and the wall behind Jack’s bed. Just having the other man’s presence so close immediately helped him feel better, which made him feel all the more _stupid_ for chasing him away. Jack wasn’t going to bring up the incident at all, was he? Mark didn’t think so. As per usual, his roommate only had his best interests at heart. If Mark’s actions were upsetting Jack, he wasn’t going to say so out loud. At least not right now.

“So… did you have a nightmare?” Jack asked. “Want to talk about it?”

There was nothing else _to_ talk about. Mark didn’t have a nightmare. Hell, he didn’t even _sleep._ It was his own restless movements and circling thoughts that eventually pushed him to this. “I… didn’t have a nightmare…. I actually couldn’t sleep either…. I thought maybe the tea would help, but… yeah, I guess zero hours of sleep don’t make me any more adept at simple tasks, so…” Mark took a quiet sip from the mug and posed a question of his own. “...did _you_ have a nightmare?”

“No. Couldn’t sleep at all either. Guess I’d gotten used to having you on the other side of the pillow wall.”

Mark knew Jack’s lame excuse wasn’t the cause of his insomnia- or at least, he severely doubted that to be the case. Maybe Jack _did_ miss Mark in the bed, but it was assuredly the events in the kitchen that left him tossing and turning as well. He could still hear Jack’s disappointed tone ringing in his ears and it made shame coil deep inside in his guts until his grip was tightening on the mug in his hands. He stared harder at the drifting steam as if it could fix everything. “Sorry, I didn’t…. When I said that, before, I wasn’t trying to say I didn’t want you with me tonight. I just…” _Couldn’t deal with you right away._ “...thought I’d give you time, since it was still early.”

“...are you feeling better? From...before bed?”

Mark focused on the heat seeping into his palms and fingers as Jack _finally_ poked the sleeping bear, in a sense. He was taking a more subtle route; inquiring about Mark’s mood rather than confronting him about _why_ it had soured so quickly to begin with. Part of him was grateful. The rest wished he had just tried going to sleep. “I’m not… I’m not _mad,_ anymore…. Or even all that irritated, I guess. Just… tired.” It was the truth. Over the course of several hours Mark’s brain had worn itself down to where it didn’t even have the energy to be agitated. The negative thoughts still weighed heavily on Mark’s heart but were leaning more towards a manifestation of grudging acceptance and melancholy than indignation or offense. He wasn’t going to blow up on Jack, so he spoke. “...I wouldn’t call it feeling _better,_ but… yeah. I’m okay now. Sorry about earlier. I was a real asshole.”

“Yeah, you kinda were.” Jack sighed. “Mark, I’m not...it’s weird for me too, okay? I didn’t ask her to kiss me, and I didn’t...I didn’t want to tell you, because I figured it wouldn’t go over well. And...yeah. We saw that. It’s just...I kinda get it. I mean, I still don’t have the faintest fucking idea why you...it was different. It was a weird break in our routine, and for two months, you haven’t really _had_ a break in your routine. Aside from the move. It was a _ton_ of different, all at once, and...I dunno. I don’t want to assume I have any idea what went wrong, if it was because she was a stranger intruding in our home, or because you were into her, or if it was just too much overstimulation too soon… I just, I get that you weren’t being a dick just to be a dick. And hey. I’ve been your friend for years, right? If I got offended every time you were a bit of an asshole…”

Moments like these, where Jack called Mark out on his shit but also forgave him for it, were one of the best reminders that Jack was truly an incredible friend. Mark _needed_ to hear that. He couldn’t be coddled and validated just because he was damaged. If he lashed out or threw a fit, then it counted just as much as it would for the average person. He wanted to be _treated_ like the average person. So Mark took Jack’s quick agreement on the chin. He listened as Jack explained his feelings on the situation and gradually shrank. Yeah, he was an asshole.

Though the mention of possibly being into Maggie almost had him spitting out his next gulp of tea. Mark’s cheeks bulged and a droplet or two slipped past his firmly pressed lips, but he managed to swallow the mouthful down. He wheezed noisily and gave a few soft coughs. What the Hell?? Jack thought _Mark_ might be into Maggie?! Was that it? Did Jack think Mark was jealous? He almost wanted to laugh. Mark buried his face down into his mug and breathed. The comment had left him so stunned he nearly missed Jack’s late addition to his words.

“For what it’s worth, there’s absolutely nothing between me and Maggie,” Jack said. “It’s not like she’s a secret girlfriend I never told you about or anything like that. I didn’t even realize she was interested until she kissed me, and then I felt like a major idiot for not noticing sooner.”

Mark was glad his ears tuned back to Jack’s voice in time. It didn’t really matter if Jack could be lying to him to spare his feelings. Mark knew for a fact Jack wouldn’t. Oh, he would try to hide things, sure, but he wouldn’t lie about this. He _had_ seemed very uncomfortable in the kitchen. If Jack claimed he wasn’t interested in Maggie, then Mark believed him. It came as a relief; a soothing balm that spread over all the spots those earlier stings had landed. He felt even more stupid than before and Mark shook his head. “I’m not… fuck, Jack, I’m _not_ into Maggie. At all. You realize she was flirting with you _all night,_ right?? When you said she kissed you, I was… I…”

“I realized she was flirting with me all night _after_ she kissed me,” Jack said into his mug. “Like I said, I’m kinda a stoop. I just thought she was being friendly before…”

Mark wanted to say he wasn’t surprised, but he _was,_ because he mistook Jack’s cluelessness as a rejection to her advances. Maybe that’s why his admission hurt so much; to find out he was wrong. It didn’t matter, because no matter _how_ Maggie felt, Jack didn’t share the sentiment. Jack _wasn’t interested_ and those two little words were akin to dark clouds being whisked away to reveal a clear blue sky. He couldn’t explain it. Was that what he’d been so hung up on? The thought of Jack hooking up with Maggie? Not only was that line of thinking unfair and selfish, it didn’t make any sense. Mark had never cared who Jack dated before. He held his mug by the curved handle so he could scratch fingers through his trimmed hair with a newfound exasperation. “You know when you’ve got all these _damn emotions_ and you have _no idea_ what to call them or why they’re there, but they just keep buzzing away in your head until it’s driving you crazy?? Wait, that probably sounds crazy. _I_ probably sound crazy. Do you think I’m crazy??” Mark at last looked over to Jack with a sort of exhausted desperation that plainly begged for answers.

Jack looked down at Mark and sighed, then reached out to touch Mark’s forearm lightly. “Mark Fischbach, I think you are absolutely raving insane. But again, I’ve been your friend for years. That’s nothing new.” He squeezed Mark’s arm lightly and offered him a smile. “You’re not _crazy_ , Mark. You’re tired and overwhelmed, and _yes_ , too many emotions buzzing around is perfectly normal. It doesn’t even have to have anything to do with what you went through. I get days where I feel too much. It’s just...normal.” Jack shrugged.

Mark’s breathing stuttered but he didn’t flinch from Jack. He stuffed the rim of his mug back into his mouth for a few moments, thinking. Mulling over what Jack had said. He tapped his incisors against the ceramic a few times before pushing himself up again. His back curved in the dimness of the room; duvet pooled around his waist and shoulders slightly hunched from the support of elbows alone. His glasses rested low on his nose. For the first time, an acceptable amount of fringe was hanging messily into his eyes, purely from bedhead and not because he had far too much hair. His expression, though clearly tired, was pensive in an almost artistic way. When he spoke, his voice was softer than the glow of moonlight around him.

“...back then, before I was… y’know. I… I had a lot of opportunities to let out my emotions. I dunno if the title still stands but I mean, I was once known as one of the most emotional people on YouTube….” Be it letting the tears loose or bursting into brief fits of (sometimes terrifying) rage. Well, he had happy moments of overwhelming emotion too, but he was less known for those. “Maybe it wasn’t always _healthy,_ but it was still an outlet. And then… when I got stuck in….” His brow furrowed; he pressed on. “...it exhausted me. _All_ of me. There was no holding back any of it; any of my feelings or emotions. Even when I realized that’s what they wanted, I couldn’t. They wouldn’t let me. Until I didn’t have anything left, and I just started shutting down. Going numb. Sometimes....”

Sometimes he could still grasp it. That hollow emptiness that would start in his stomach and spread out until it felt like he was adrift in the void. In the room, it was a sanctuary. In the real world, it was _terrifying;_ for everyone. He ducked a bit closer to his mug and felt the steam tickling his chin. “...then I came back. And things were different. They weren’t tearing my emotions from me anymore. I kept teetering between these explosive episodes-” Like when he clawed up the nurses, god. “-and these times where I’d just close myself off and refuse to feel _anything._ I had to remember what was _okay._ I had to remember expectations, and how _normal fucking people that don’t_ ** _kidnap and torture others_** could react. How… how you would react….”

Mark was torn between ducking his head again or looking to Jack, so he compromised. He sunk down a bit further and peeked at Jack in his peripheral; bloodshot eyes half-hidden by dark bangs. “And we moved. And I was getting better. I _am_ getting better. I was happy again. And I had breakdowns where I cried. And it was good. It was controlled. But I never… never really… got **_angry._** ” Mark couldn’t think of the last time he’d truly let loose that particular emotion, besides the first few weeks of his captivity. It had quickly been squashed. “I’m such an emotional fucking person, Jack. I’ll be the first to own up to it, I will. But I haven’t… I haven’t been letting it out as much as I should, they got me into the habit of letting too much go, and I got scared, and so I started bottling it up at the hospital and when we moved because it was just so much sometimes. And I’ve just been _so angry,_ Jack. So angry at them, at what they’ve done, at how they hurt so many more people than just me and what they put _you_ through because of some stupid ship name! But I was scared, and I was also happy, and pushing through. It was okay. It was okay, until things changed and the emotions all built up too fast and I… and I had to run away because I didn’t want to hurt you. But it doesn’t matter, because I still did, and I am so… _so_ sorry, Jack. You didn’t deserve that….”

Mark’s voice cracked and his face scrunched up as he felt the familiar burn in his eyes. Speak of the devil. He _would_ start to cry after going on a stupid rant about his emotions. He just couldn’t stop. Every time he wanted to close his mouth another thought would pop free and get him going again. It was like trying to undo some massive, nasty knot. Once it started unraveling he could only sit back and go along for the ride. Mark felt the hot tears welling up and sniffled into his tea, folding in on himself much as the awkward position would allow. He whispered another apology under his breath, because he’d gone and created this big mess there was never a need for to begin with. He _still_ didn’t know the source of his boiling over pot of emotions. Boy, he sucked.

Mark didn’t protest when Jack confiscated his mug. It was about to be spilled all over the bedspread anyway. He used his free hands to scrub at his face and the tears. They did absolutely nothing but smear the mess on his skin as he hiccuped softly. This time, he did flinch minutely when Jack touched him, but he didn’t move away.

“Mark?” Jack’s fingers were barely brushing Mark’s shoulder. “Mark, can I please hug you?”

Mark released a quiet sob. Hugs were _hard._ Hugs were _harder_ when he was emotional, but Mark was so upset and scared his stupid actions were going to permanently marr their relationship. That he was going to chase Jack off because why wouldn’t he? What reason did Jack have to put up with Mark’s shit beyond his own compassion?

Jack was one of the best things to ever happen to Mark. He’d regret it for the rest of his life if his own twisted brain screwed this up. He cried, feeling positively pathetic, but eventually gave a shaky nod of consent. He let his arms fold beneath his weight so he could bury his face in them; glasses be damned.

“I’m gonna put my arm around your back, Mark. I’m right here. It’s okay. It’s okay to be upset.”

The narration helped. Mark could brace himself for Jack’s touch. He tensed, but didn’t flinch when the arm slipped around him. His back heaved and trembled beneath the limb with his sobs, however Jack’s gentle tugging and quiet reassurance coaxed Mark into inching closer. It was more like his body hit a wall and naturally turned onto its side than him actively rolling over, but he wound up snuggled against Jack either way. He let his arms get sandwiched between their chests; fists clenched and pulled in close to the base of his neck. It was easier for Mark to curl up in this position and his knees tucked alongside Jack’s with only a few folds of duvet between them.

Jack spread his hand across Mark’s broad back. “I think we’ve been going about this all wrong, Mark. You’re right, you _are_ emotional. It’s part of who you are. And we’ve been trying to keep you all even-keeled, but that’s never been you. No wonder everything’s building up inside. This is gonna be something we’ll need to work on. We’ll _both_ need to work on. Finding ways to help you vent before you implode like this.” Jack’s sigh ruffled Mark’s floof. “But for now...it’s okay  to let it out in tears. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I-I’m so scared of lashing out, Jack. That’s all I kn-knew for so long. I don’t want to hurt anybody… n-not again… not _you_ ….” If Mark attacked Jack the way he’d managed to injure those nurses (and himself) he would be devastated. Even after they accepted his apologies he carried some of that guilt with him out of the hospital. He was _non-violent;_ supremely anti-aggression, which was why his explosive rages in the past always left him feeling ashamed. In the room, he’d had no choice. Now he had that control back but wasn’t certain he could exercise it like he used to.

“I’m not,” Jack said quietly, rubbing his fingers across the stretch of Mark’s shoulder blades. “Mark, I’m _not_ scared of you lashing out at me. I don’t think you would. I don’t think you _could_. You stopped yourself in the kitchen, right? And you were letting me know you were upset. Mark, you don’t go from zero to sixty with nothing inbetween. You give off signs. You _do_. Just like you do when you’re falling into a bad headspace. And I can pull you out of that. If you’re getting aggressive...I can back off. I’m not quite as ragey as you. I know when to stop. Most of the time.” Jack took a deep breath, and then another.

Mark wasn’t as confident in his self-control as Jack apparently was, but the Irishman’s faith in him helped. Even if he thought Jack should be concerned, if he _wasn’t,_ then it didn’t matter what Mark thought. He did his best to latch on to his friend’s verbalized beliefs and make them his own because Jack making completely valid points was good. Taking the time to lay out the facts was _good._ Mark _had_ stopped himself from going off on Jack in the kitchen, much as it nearly killed him. There had been signs there Jack could see; hints that made him take caution. The change in atmosphere Mark had noticed but been too agitated about to acknowledge as _important._

Jack hadn’t pulled him out of it, but that was because Mark didn’t even give him the chance. He was _scared-_ still was. Jack was understanding, though, patient and thoughtful as ever while cradling Mark in his arms. Mark could tell when Jack deepened his breathing just for Mark’s sake and it ripped another pitiful sob from his throat. He sniffled heavily. “S-sorry, I’m… I’m getting snot all over your sh-shirt….” he whispered. It sounded like his tone shook not just from crying, but with a hint of laughter. It was a funny apology.

Jack just kept up his slow rubbing, back and forth. Mark could feel Jack’s breath on his hair now that it was so much shorter. Mark snuffled against Jack’s collar and slowly unclenched his fists. Turning his wrists around, he gently pressed his palms to Jack’s chest. He could feel the slight rise and fall that accompanied the puffs of air stirring his fringe. Through sobs and hiccups, Mark tried to match the rhythm. “I lo…..” He shook his head a bit. Huffed a wet breath against Jack’s skin and tried to focus on the faint _ba-dump ba-dump_ of an Irish heartbeat. “...I-I’m sorry…. Thank you…. Y-you really think we can figure something out?”

“You have more control than you think, Mark. That first day in the hospital, that’s when you were at your weakest. You’re growing stronger every day. All we need to do is find a way to work out your emotions, and then you’ll never reach that point of blind rage. And that could be...that could be _anything_. We could get you a punching bag, or you could blow up virtual zombies. _Truly_ virtual zombies, in VR, if that might help. Or...or maybe a canoe or something? And you could just paddle around the river or whatever the fuck you do in a boat? I mean, we’re _here_ , right? We might as well take advantage of what’s around us. Or...you used to work out a lot. Maybe we start that up again? Get some weights, go for runs...I could certainly afford to get into better shape. I’ve just always been too lazy to motivate myself. We don’t have any rock climbing places around here, but I’m sure we could figure _something_ out.”

Jack wracking his brains to find Mark a new outlet helped drag his mind out of its puddle of self-pity. Actually set it to being active instead of passive and possibly coming up with a solution. Jack was good for that.

Mark gave an especially loud snuffle and let his fingers curl against Jack’s chest. “I-I… I had thought, a few times… m-mainly when I was in the room…. Learning self-defense. I never… n-never was interested, before, because I didn’t like the idea of fighting for real. But… but I didn’t- I _don’t_ want to ever go through s-something like that again. I don’t. I _can’t,_ Jack. If… if we could do that, maybe get me some tapes or something, some exercise equipment….” Mark wasn’t sure if he could handle runs yet, but he already exerted himself in the garden. Having actual equipment to work his muscles with sounded almost enticing. “W-we could both get those plus ten biceps….”

He let loose another watery sound bordering on a chuckle and buried his face into Jack’s neck. “Boating… sounds fun, but I dunno. Y’know I hate the ocean, and like… r-rivers are pretty deep too. Maybe… we could feed the ducks? A-and I’ll protect you from the swans, and the badgers, and…. And I still want to play video games with you, Jack….” Mark was starting to calm down as his mind processed the ideas. It conjured up pleasant mental images of Jack and himself performing the various activities together. Just because he couldn’t drag Jack into the garden with him, that didn’t mean they had to do everything apart.

“That settles it, then. Tomorrow, I get my videos recorded as early as possible, and we start getting computer components and a punching bag. And we find some self-defense channels and figure out how to knock a guy out who comes at us. And also life jackets for when the ducks inevitably chase us.”

“With… with more than just our looks, right?” Mark couldn’t believe he was actually making a joke, but there it was in response to Jack’s “knock a guy out who comes at us” comment. Maybe laughter was the best medicine. Or at least a good medicine. Humor helped Mark feel better, in any case, and seemed to help Jack too. It was better than crying. “I thought you said it was the swans we had to watch out for….” he mumbled into Jack’s shoulder.

“Please. We are brawns as well as beauty. But this morning...how about this morning, you just take your glasses off and we get some sleep? I don’t think I have enough spare pillows in here for the pillow wall. Most of them are in your room...we could...get them? Or move there?”

Mark was emitting a stuffy yawn before Jack even suggested tucking in for what little night was left. Burbling softly now he’d calmed down, Mark shook his head. What at first looked like refusal just turned out to be his exceptionally lazy way of removing the irritating frames on his face. They wobbled, skewed, then went clattering off against Jack’s chin. Another “sorry” was muffled as Mark pressed his face back into Jack’s shoulder; good enough. “Don’t wanna move… comfy.” He huffed and snuggled closer to Jack. The other man was soft and warm and after being in his embrace for so long, Mark felt safe. There would no doubt be issues come morning- er, possibly afternoon if they slept long enough- but present Mark figured he could deal with them when the time came.

Jack managed to wiggle one arm between them to fish Mark’s glasses out before they rolled on them and broke them during the night, flipping them in the general direction of a nightstand. He quickly pulled his arm out, curling it around Mark again, and sighed.

Right then, Mark just wanted to stretch out and let Jack’s wonderful bed and arms and voice envelope him. If that made him sound childish, well, so be it. It wasn’t like he was throwing another hissy fit. Luckily for Jack, he also no longer had to deal with suffocating in all of Mark’s hair. The dark floof only tickled at his chin and jaw whenever Mark shifted to get more comfortable. He released a shuddering breath, lungs still recovering from the crying fit. “Don’t let go, Jack……” He was serious; it could be heard in his tone. That didn’t stop the unfortunate quote from being just a little bit funny.

“Keep that up,” Jack mumbled, “and I’ll get us a goat after all.” Mark was all but asleep, but he caught the last of Jack’s words. “If you haveta kick me out of bed without the wall,” Jack murmured, snuggling against Mark, “go for it. Won’t get offended… if I’m too clingy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	59. 6/25: Role Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's in need, someone tries to help, and trends are broken.

It was odd for Mark to be roused from his slumber by something other than his own nightmares. After starting to consistently share a bed with Jack, he almost always slept through the night. But now, there were stimuli shaking him loose from the grip of black unconsciousness. Tiny sounds triggering red flags and something pushing insistently at his chest. It actually felt a little wet, he noticed as he drew closer to being fully awake. Mark’s cognitive skills were taking far longer to come online but his senses worked just fine and his instincts, on top of that evidence, told him something was wrong.

It was still dark when he finally forced his eyes open. There wasn’t even moonlight and it took a full minute for his eyes to adjust. The little green nightlight in the corner helped but couldn’t makeup for his naturally poor eyesight. Everything was just blurs of stretched shadows and shapes. Beside him in the bed, he could feel Jack more than see him; hear him too. Mark immediately decided he didn’t like what he was hearing. “...Jack?” The Irishman was whining and snuffling softly in his sleep. Mark patted at the front of his nightshirt and found it was indeed wet. Hesitantly, he reached out to prod at the dark circle that was Jack’s face in his weak vision- it was wet too. Jack had been crying.

No, Jack _was_ crying. In his sleep. Mark’s eyes widened with the realization as he felt hands press against him again. _Jack was having a nightmare._ He was having one, right now, here in Mark’s arms and he felt a thrill of panic race through him. Mark had never experienced this. He _knew_ Jack had nightmares he wouldn’t talk about, but they were in separate beds before. It was the first time Jack had one since they started sharing a bedroom and Mark should do something. Mark _had_ to do something, but what??

Wasn’t there some study saying not to wake a person from a nightmare? Or was that sleepwalking? Mark couldn’t remember, but Jack was still whimpering and muttering his name into the pillow. He might not have been able to see Jack clearly, but the sound alone was breaking his heart. “Jack….” Gently as he could, Mark slipped his arms around the smaller man. He tugged him close, right up against his chest, and loosely held him there; just in case it made the nightmare worse and Jack tried to pull away. He hesitated then, worrying his lower lip and pressing fingertips into Jack’s back. What next? What now? Should he just talk to him??

Mark hooked his chin over the top of Jack’s fluffy bed head so his roommate could tuck his face into his neck or shoulder. The wetness made him shiver but he only gripped tighter at Jack, trying to steady the both of them. Humming softly in his throat, he wondered if Jack could feel his heartbeat even in the dream. Maybe it would help. “It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here, and so are you. We’re here together in the bed we share in your bedroom, in our cottage by the river. You know the one. The really big one, you said it was. With all the ducks and killer swans and the pretty garden I’ve been working on. We’re home, Jack. Wherever you are, it’s not real. Whatever’s happening…” ‘ _To me, probably.’_ “...it’s not. It’s not, because we’re here. Shhhh. It’s okay, Sean, I’m here.” His voice was a low, smooth rumble that resounded through his chest and throat. If he couldn’t wake Jack, at the very least maybe he could dispel the nightmare from his subconscious.

Jack clutched at Mark’s shirt, fingers twitching and tugging at the fabric and whining as he pressed tighter, trying to curl up but hampered by Mark’s body in the way. His breathing was erratic, sometimes too fast, sometimes not even there, as he sobbed and shivered and didn’t wake up.

The tugging was sending little bursts of anxiety through Mark’s veins and he hated it. Jack _needed_ him right now. Could his fucked up mind just put its issues on hold for an hour or two? Cursing under his breath, he grudgingly relinquished one arm’s hold on his bed partner. He flailed and swiped blindly at the bedside table until his fingers hooked onto a familiar pair of glasses. “Fucking finally,” he muttered while he forced the accessory onto his face. Blinking a few times as his vision was finally able to focus, Mark immediately went straight back to cradling Jack. He felt a little calmer with his glasses on but Jack was the exact opposite. He only seemed to be getting worse.

His erratic breathing was really starting to concern Mark. Looked like simply talking and holding wasn’t going to do the trick. He could shake him, but… he didn’t want to _hurt_ Jack. By now he’d practically worn a hole through his bottom lip, but Mark had to try _something._ He had to be louder and more aggressive- carefully. Tentatively, he shifted his grip so that his hands were grasping at Jack’s biceps. He squeezed them, tried to provoke a stimuli response like he’d gotten, and gave Jack a moderate shake. “Jack. _Jack._ Sean, wake up! Wake up, you’re having a nightmare, it’s _not real._ Sean!! C’mon, Sean, you have to try and breathe.”

Jack jerked abruptly as he woke up, his eyes flying open with a gasp.

Mark couldn’t help it, he jerked too- on reflex. The abrupt motions startled him into wide-eyed silence for a bit as he fought off a panic bubbling beneath his skin. ‘ _No, no, no time for that. Jack is still vulnerable. Jack still_ ** _needs_** _you.’_ He sucked in a deep breath of his own through his nose and let it filter out from his mouth. His grip on Jack became gentle again, sliding around to rub soothingly at his back. It was okay. Jack was okay, Mark was okay, everything was **_okay._** Mark cautiously pressed his nose into Jack’s fluff with the hope Jack’s scent would calm him down.

“...Mark…”

It did. “It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay, just breathe with me. Focus on my breathing, all right? In and out. Remember? Just like you always tell me. _In and out._ I’ve got you.” The relief made his voice weaker than before but the tone was the same. He had to try and ward off his anxiety for Jack- just for a little while.

Jack tightened his grip on Mark’s shirt, pressing his face against Mark’s neck.

Mark’s chest was a little tight, and there was a tension lingering in his nerves, but he could push it all aside for Jack. For this brief moment, _he could._ He just had to keep breathing too and-

Jack ripped himself away from Mark so fast he couldn’t even attempt to hold the Irishman back. One minute he had his arms full of his best friend and the next Jack was halfway across the bed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you like that…” Jack was shivering, sitting up and wiping a hand over his face. “Mark, it’s okay, I’m...I’m okay…”

It took Mark a few moments to fully comprehend what had just happened; Jack babbling apologies in the background all the while. A little shellshocked, Mark hesitantly propped himself up on an elbow to look at Jack. All the excess tension and anxiety in him was trickling away but the concern held strong as his fingers slid cautiously across the bedspread towards Jack.

“Jack. Jack, _it’s okay._ It’s fine. I’m the one that pulled you. I wanted to try waking you up. Or… at least stop the nightmare. It was all me. You don’t have to apologize.” That didn’t change the fact Mark hadn’t been reacting one hundred percent positively to the closeness and he sighed internally. “Jack… c’mon. That doesn’t work on you. What makes you think it’ll work any better on me? We know each other too well by now. I _know_ you’re not okay. You… you’re still crying….” Frown etched in just about every aspect of Mark’s face, he reached over to pass Jack the box of tissues. He didn’t touch the other again, not yet, but he let his hand rest close just in case Jack wanted to take it.

“It wasn’t a…” Jack closed his eyes, slumping further. “It was a happy fluffy dream about rainbows and unicorns,” he mumbled, snagging a handful of tissues to wipe his face and blow his nose.

“Maybe I’d believe that, if those were leprechaun tears of joy on your face.” It was a poor attempt at some kind of humor; just to break the awkwardness filling the air between them. “We both know they’re not.” Whether the joke helped didn’t matter much, since Jack crawled back over to Mark either way. He was relieved and instantly squeezed at Jack’s hand once it had a hold on his own. This was fine. This was okay. They’d done this before.

“I’m sorry, I...it’s not usually this…” Jack gestured vaguely toward his face. He was still shaking, even as he clutched at Mark’s hand and the tissues.

Mark took a few breaths and spoke again. “I told you, don’t apologize. It’s fine. How many times have you come in to see me shaken up and trying to stop more tears, huh? Seeing you upset isn’t going to trigger me, Jack. _They_ were never upset.” Only angry.

It didn’t take him long to notice Jack kept forcing his gaze away. Mark sighed audibly and gently interlocked their fingers together. He firmly slotted their palms and stared Jack down, but besides the intensity, all the expressions in his face were warm and welcoming. Worry, affection, endearment, relief, sincerity; all were directed at Jack as Mark let his upper half sink somewhat to put himself on Jack’s level. “Jack. Look at me. It’s okay. I’m not scared about you looking. _I’m not._ ”

It still took Jack several tries to actually look at him without looking away. Once he started, he didn’t stop, his eyes roving over Mark’s face and down to his chest. Jack’s lip started to tremble and he bit it. “I’m not...I’m not worried about triggering you from being upset…” He swiped at his face again with the handful of tissues and looked away. “I just…”

“Then… what? What is it? Jack??” If Jack wasn’t worried about triggering Mark, then why was he being so standoffish? Something was still bothering him. The fact he had to tear his gaze away again, was ripping his bottom lip to shreds; they were obvious signs all was not well. Jack was still trying to hide his discomfort from Mark, just like he always did because… because he wanted to be strong for Mark and focus on Mark’s issues. He didn’t want to look vulnerable. Was that it? Was that the thing Jack was doing?

How was he supposed to confront that? Just calling Jack out might not end well and he didn’t want Jack to close up even more. His mouth twitching back into a frown, Mark gave Jack’s hand another reassuring squeeze. “Jack….” By then, Mark was resting his head on the pillow again, so his other hand was free to move and act. Slowly, he extended the attached arm until he could gently press his fingertips to Jack’s sticky cheek. He didn’t move anymore than that, and when he spoke his words were the softest they’d been yet. “Jack… you can talk to me. You know that, right? I want to support you too.”

Jack closed his eyes, whispering Mark’s name. He didn’t pull away from Mark’s touch. He actually leaned in a little closer, finally releasing his abused lip. “I just...it was just a nightmare, Mark. Just a dream. Nothing real. It’s fine, I’m fine. I’ll _be_ fine, in the morning. It’s not like…”

Mark felt Jack press into his fingertips and shifted more of his hand forward in response, letting a majority of the digits brush against Jack’s cheek and settle there. Tactile sensation was good for this stuff, right? He tried to read Jack’s face for some kind of clue but it was difficult when Jack refused to maintain eye contact. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He would know. “I _know_ you’ll be okay, Jack. It’s always better in the morning. But it’s not morning. And right now you’re not as okay as you want me to think you are. And that’s _fine._ Really.” He did his best to sound as sincere and emphatic as he felt.

“...not like I haven’t done this before.”

Spying a stray tear, Mark shifted the positioning of his hand so his thumb could catch it. He swiped the droplet away as if it were the most natural action in the world between them. Hearing Jack’s bitter admission cut Mark straight to the bone. Of course, he’d always had his suspicions, but hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth just gave the idea so much more _weight_ and his next exhale came out a bit shaky. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.” Mark didn’t; Jack was _always_ there for Mark’s nightmares, but who’d been there for Jack’s? He should have asked about it sooner. He should have _done_ something. Seeing Jack like this, and thinking he could have been like this so many nights prior, it was akin to someone prying Mark’s ribs open.

Jack sniffed and shifted a little closer to Mark, keeping his eyes closed, leaning toward him. “I’m not alone.” Jack cracked his eyes open, then lifted them to finally meet Mark’s. Jack smiled, though it was weak and wobbly, and squeezed Mark’s hand. “I haven’t...this is the first nightmare I’ve had since we started sharing a bed. You’ve _been_ helping, Mark.”

Mark wished he could pull Jack into another embrace, but he was concerned it would hike up his anxiety again. It had been easy to hold Jack before, when panicked adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Now there was nothing else for his mind and body to focus on; just Jack being too close. He held Jack’s hand and cradled his cheek and silently prayed it would be enough. The smile, no matter how frail, was encouraging. Mark returned the squeeze and his eyes softened to match his voice. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help sooner. I just… I’m glad I’ve been helping now. That it’s not just you helping me. Like I said, I _want_ to support you too, Jack. It might be harder for me, and maybe you think you don’t need it, but… I want to. So please… talk to me, if you’re upset. I promise I won’t lose any faith in you.”

Jack gave a small shake of his head. “Mark, your focus needs to be on yourself first, not me.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I can’t focus on you at all.” They always, _always_ had this conversation. A borderline argument, really, without the heat. They were both stubborn as donkeys and never really made any ground. Even when Jack would open up a little, he’d be closed next time around and it was almost like they were just talking in circles. Mark hated it, but maybe- maybe this time, like this, laying here in bed together they could make some real progress. Perhaps cutting off Jack’s nightmare and being present for the aftermath was the kind of catalyst they needed.

Jack closed his eyes, his head falling heavy against the pillow. “...would it actually help anything?”

Mark really hoped so. “I think it would. Anything’s better than nothing, right? And… talking with you always manages to help me, when I can do it. Just like with the therapists. But a _million_ times better. At the very least, we could try… and if it turns out stupid and terrible, I’ll take total blame. And we never have to do it again.” A hint of sadness dripped into his expression. “...I’m not trying to force you or anything, Jack. You never make me talk. I just… I want you to know the option is there. I’m not the only one who needs choices.”

“Yeah, total responsibility _after_ I’ve triggered you.” Jack curled his arm around his stomach, squeezing his fistful of soggy tissues. “Because they’re always _about_ you, Mark, always about what happened. Or it happening again. And I have to watch. I can’t _not_ watch, can’t cover my eyes, can’t look away, can only watch until they’re done and they just leave you there to die, and I can’t do anything, can’t do a damn thing but _watch_.” His mouth twisted.

“Jack….” Mark was at a loss. He didn’t know what he should do. Jack really was better at this; whether it came naturally to the Irishman or he’d learned from experience. If it was Mark recovering from a nightmare, Jack would have had him set already. His mind didn’t bother taking into account all the hidden landmines and nuances his trauma required. When he wanted to talk, he could, without needing to worry about triggering Jack. The same couldn’t be said with their positions reversed but still, he should be able to do _something,_ damn it.

Mark gently stroked Jack’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Their free hands were still joined together between them on the bed, so he began rubbing soothing circles into fair skin with his calloused thumb. Quietly, he let their legs and feet brush together and with a little wiggle of his hip and shoulder, he closed a few more inches of the gap they’d formed. He curled his head forward, letting his cheek rest comfortably on the pillow, and did his best to meet watery blue eyes. “Jack. Jack, listen. Maybe you can’t go into all the grisly details. Maybe you can’t describe the things they’re doing to me- even if I’ve already survived them. But you can tell me your fears and anxieties. You can tell me when you’ve had a nightmare, and vent your emotions. You don’t need to bottle it all up. You don’t need to stand alone. I’m here. _I am._ And I can still help, even if it’s not as much as I’d like….”

Jack wiggled another inch closer to Mark and squeezed his hand. “This does help, Mark. It really does. I’m not just saying that. Just...getting to wake up and see immediately that you’re here and you’re okay...it helps. I’d…” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I used to lie awake for hours and hope you’d have a nightmare, so I had a reason to check that you weren’t dead or gone. This is better.”

“Oh, Jack….” Mark knew he sounded like some lovesick idiot from a Lifetime movie. He didn’t care. Saying Jack’s name after each new reveal was all his brain could think to initially do. Gently, he let his ankles hook around Jack’s calves; bumped their knees together. He turned his hand around to cradle Jack’s face properly while the other slowly dragged their joined hands closer so he could kiss at Jack’s knuckles. His lips were feather light and lingered for the barest of seconds; brown eyes never leaving Jack. When he spoke, his warm breath skirted over their wrists. “If we ever get separate beds again, please come get me when you have a nightmare. _Please._ Or at the very least, feel free to check on me. It won’t hurt me. _It won’t._ And if being here, with you, post-nightmare helps as much as it does to prevent mine… then I’m glad we’re here. It’s worth a little clinging.” And drooling on his part.

Jack’s breath hitched and Mark’s eyes started to dart around nervously when Jack just stared at him. Had he… had he gone too far? It was the kissing, wasn’t it? Too weird and out of place. _Fuck._ He’d just been trying to comfort Jack however he could; showcase the sincerity in his words. Guys kissed girls’ hands all the time! Jack wasn’t a girl, but, it could still work. Platonic kisses were a thing… **_fuck._** Mark licked his lips as he started to grow anxious. He let their hands slide back to the previous position and dropped his gaze fully. His cheeks had gone a little pink in the dim glow from the nightlight. He felt more than saw Jack duck his head.

“I...okay. Maybe… Maybe we should try to get back to sleep?”

Mark’s mouth twisted into several shapes before he opened it, prepared to apologize; to toss out some excuse. If he’d made Jack uncomfortable again… but no, Jack wasn’t addressing the kiss at all. He was cautiously (possibly) agreeing to Mark’s offer, and bringing up the fact it was still about three in the morning. They should _really_ try getting back to sleep. Relief trickled into his veins- maybe he’d been over-thinking. Maybe Jack was just surprised. Yeah, that was probably it. Mark managed a tiny smile for his bedmate. “Yeah…. Yeah, good idea. Just toss those on the floor. We’ll get them in the morning or something.” Mark finally released Jack’s face so he could remove his glasses and reached over Jack to set them back on the bedside table.

“ _I’ll_ get them in the morning,” Jack said. “You don’t need to clean up my snot.” He reached behind him to drop his wad of tissues over the side of the bed before returning his arm between them.

“Oh hush, my shirt already kinda did that for us.” Mark didn’t argue any further, though. He _was_ tired. They could save the conversation for morning when Mark would inevitably wake up first, and thus clean up the tissues before Jack even opened his eyes. He’d get nagged for it but that was nothing he wasn’t used to. When Jack settled back down beneath the covers, Mark allowed himself relax. Tension slowly uncurled from his muscles and he let himself close his eyes. Jack was just going to track him down and cling again by morning, might as well stay where he was.

“Good night, Mark.”

“G’night, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	60. 6/27: Domesticated Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is nervous. He doesn't know why.

Falling asleep in a hug was probably the best accidental decision they had ever made. Mark had panicked only a little when he woke up that first morning, but once he managed to track down his glasses, he was able to get himself under control. Jack had offered to return to Mark’s bed and the pillow wall, but Mark confessed that Jack’s bed was more comfortable anyway… and somehow the pillow wall just didn’t switch rooms with them.

Gradually, Mark just got used to waking up in Jack’s arms. When the third or fourth cuddly morning rolled around and nothing bad had happened as a result, Mark’s brain finally felt secure enough to let any lingering tensions dissolve- like today. Mark’s face was pressed into Jack’s neck, but he wasn’t asleep. Jack had an arm flopped over Mark’s side, tracing idle patterns on Mark’s back, circles and squiggles and things. Mark could feel Jack’s breaths skittering across his hair.

He was perfectly serene in Jack’s arms until a damn dick was drawn on his back. It took his brain a second to register the lines and form the shape, but when he got it that was it. He snorted into Jack’s shirt and huffed out a breathy giggle as he squirmed. “Fuck you, Jack, oh my _god_ we were having such a nice moment there. You know dick jokes are my weakness.” It wasn’t really a “joke” but it made Mark laugh, so it counted. Sighing as if separating from Jack was the hardest action in the world, Mark disentangled their limbs. His hair, still short and healthy, brushed along Jack’s chin when he pushed away.

“I don’t know what time it is, but it’s too late to cook breakfast. So what’ll it be? Mini-marshmallows in milk or toast with jam that’s almost as sugary? Either way, sticky stuff and impending cavities are guaranteed!” Mark reached out to give Jack a vicious hair ruffle as he rose into a sitting position; revenge for the back dick. (That sounded utterly horrifying.) They had definitely come a long way from that first morning in Jack’s bed. Besides the tension that accompanied waking up in another person’s arms, Mark had gotten over a majority of his anxieties. He was used to the position now. He knew it was safe.

Granted, hugs in other situations were still tricky and Mark doubted he could share a bed with anyone else. Jack was just a special case, and the pair had been sleeping better than ever. Jack’s nightmare had been the only true nightmare either of them had experienced since. There was a smile in Mark’s eyes as he looked down at the Irishman curled up before him- after slipping on his glasses, of course. The late morning sunlight made Jack’s shock of green all the more vivid and blue eyes, even when shrouded with the lingering effects of sleep, gleamed up at him with all the energy Jack hoarded beneath the surface. His heart swelled with affection.

Mark combed fingers through his hair and let loose a massive yawn. “Fuck, what time _is it,_ even? Don’t we have something to do today?” He scooted off the bed to look out the window at the garden. Throwing one arm up over his head, Mark wrapped the other around it to stretch. He swung his body in all the cardinal directions, twisted back and forth, then reached up as far as his spine could stretch. It popped pleasantly and triggered a soft groan. The past week or so had been good for him. More sun, more activity as they followed suit with the plans they’d made that night and some more muscle building that was _definitely_ making itself known. Mark wasn’t just bulking up anymore; he was refining it and getting his body back.

“Today is a magical day. June 27,” Jack explained, “Your silver pre-birthday. I figured I’d celebrate it by drawing the magical dick fairy, so that maybe he could grant you every man’s dream… alcohol tolerance.”

“How altruistic of you! Maybe I’ll ask Tom to pick up a bottle of amaretto on the way over. We can see if your efforts paid off. Just keep 999 on speed dial.” Mark craned his neck to shoot Jack a cheeky look; sunshine gleaming in warm brown eyes. Jack was _still_ gloriously sleep ruffled and adorable where he lay tangled up in the duvet and Mark’s heart tingled again in his chest.

Jack reached up to grab hold of the bars of his bed, arching his back as he stretched himself. “We can probably make do with toast this morning. We actually have more real food than sugary stuff now, cause Thomas is supposed to get here, and he’s a _grown-up_.”

“Oh, don’t even get me _started_ on Tom’s ‘big boy’ diet. He gets up my ass about eating better _all the time._ I am going to make us all the _healthiest_ lunch ever, just you wait and see. And then? Pizza for dinner. That’ll keep him on his toes.” Maybe. They didn’t _need_ to have pizza for dinner, but Mark figured it would be hilarious. For them- not for Thomas.

“Yay, pizza!” Jack clapped his hands like a little kid, grinning up at Mark. “Good for that too, cause I need to make a cake today.”

“If you need any help, I'm sure Tom would be happy to ‘supervise’. Aka give you a bunch of orders and suggestions that may or may not help.”

Jack sat, drawing his knees up beneath the duvet and resting his chin on them as he smiled at Mark. “You ready for him?”

Scratching fingernails through the baby hairs on the back of his neck, Mark turned to fully face his roommate (and bedmate). There was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “I’ll always be ready for my big brother. It’s just a little easier now.” A sincere tenderness dripped from the words. Mark headed for the door as he felt his bladder begin to protest his dilly-dallying. “Better have a tissue box ready though, ‘cause I’m a big, bubble-blowin’ baby and I’m gonna turn on the waterworks when he gets here.”

Jack grinned at Mark, raking his fingers through his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ve stocked up on those too.”

“What would I ever do without you?” Mark swooned a little and batted his lashes at Jack dramatically before leaving the room. His mind was reeling with excitement for the next few days. Seeing Thomas and throwing the best-worst birthday party in existence; _finally_ posting a video for his fans. It was going to be fantastic.

First, he took care of his morning business in the bathroom and then he vacated it for Jack. The other always took longer to rouse himself out of bed. He figured he could get the coffee and toast going in the meantime. Humming pleasantly with a subtle giddiness buzzing through his veins, Mark bent down to dig through the fridge. “Now where the fuck did the jam go?? We didn't run out, did we? Shit.”

“You are damn lucky I'm being nice to you because it's almost your birthday,” Jack remarked suddenly, having entered the kitchen. “Because if you were one of my brothers, I totally would've smacked dat booty.”

“You wouldn't _dare._ The Markibooty is too legendary for your _wee little hands,_ Jackaboy. Just sit there and weep tears of joy like everyone else.” Mark countered; voice slightly muffled from his head being shoved deep inside the fridge. He gave his butt a little wiggle just to be a superior shithead.

“Oh, say that to my face and I'll show you _wee little hands!_ Jesus, Mark, you are _asking_ for trouble!”

“ _Wee. Little._ ** _Hands._** ” Maybe Mark _was_ asking for trouble. Could he help it if he was in a stellar mood that morning? Jack was fun to tease, plus it was good practice for tormenting Thomas. He was bound to be a bit rusty.

Jack blew a raspberry at Mark. “Don't use the strawberry jam. That's for your cake. There should be blackcurrant in the back?”

“Aw, I can't even use a little? Fine. Guess we'll need to pick up more grape. Or maybe we could get some more of that orange marmalade you got from the farmer’s market once….”

Mark shoved the little pinkish jar aside and grabbed the black one instead- or maybe it was just a really deep purple? Who knew? It was still pretty good, he supposed. Mark snagged the cream and butter on his retreat from the frigid depths as well. He dropped the latter objects straight into Jack’s lap but was more careful with the glass jar. “There. Since you're sitting _your_ Irish butt on my counter, _you_ can be my counter. Watch the toast.” Their toaster, like most, had the awesomely bad habit of either undercooking or burning their bread. It had a rather strained relationship with Mark because of that.

“ _Your_ counter!?” Jack sputtered along with the coffee maker, catching the cream and butter before he dropped them both to the clean floor. “Excuse me, just because you do _most_ of the cooking doesn't mean the counter is _yours_! It's _my_ ‘watch Mark make me breakfast’ seat!” He set the dairy beside him and twisted to better eye up the toaster. “Pass me a plate?”

Mark dug through the cupboards, retrieving two small plates and two ceramic mugs; one painted up like the Irish flag, and another with a wiggly Septic Sam swimming around the outside. Must have been a gift from a fan. “Fine, fine. _Our_ counter. Sorry, sugarlumps.”

If Jack wanted to act like his domestic partner then Mark was going to tease him for it. Besides, since he _did_ most of the cooking, the kitchen was pretty much his space; like the garden. Jack was just occupying it... with his butt. “You can watch me make our toaster disappear if it burns our breakfast again.” He passed over the plates, set the mugs by the coffee maker and grabbed two butter knives from a drawer.

Jack pulled a face at him, accepting the plates and setting them beside the dairy. “If the toaster disappears, you'll have to learn how to toast in the oven.” Jack reached over to cancel the cycle, popping up two perfectly golden brown pieces of toast and replacing them with fresh bread. “Mm, toasted perfection. See, Mark, this is why I did so good with I Am Bread and you...didn't.” Jack gave Mark a cheeky grin.

Mark’s lips pinched into a scowl when Jack bragged about his amazing toast skills, then he glowered briefly at the toaster. Surely, it was mocking him. “Well what's the point of installing a timer if it's gonna be wrong all the time, huh?? And don't even speak of that blasphemous game in my presence! It was the controls and you _know it._ Irish people just have magic on their side.” He huffed a bit at the memory of that awful Let’s Play. It was something he'd forever be known for and not exactly for it being his proudest moment.

“Uh-huh, controls. And that's why no one else raged out as much as you. Sure.” Jack nodded. “Even though the controls were obviously _intentionally_ sloppy…”

“We've been over this. I'm emotional. At least I haven't overreacted to any of our recent games.” Mark whined, referring to the minor matches and video-less collabs Jack and himself had done every other day or so. Well, no video feed on his end, at least. The fans were disappointed but content enough at seeing Jack’s reactions and hearing Mark’s. It came as a relief. (He supposed after four months of radio silence the community would be happy with anything.) “Who makes controls _intentionally_ bad, anyway? Like putting in a timer that can't even time right….” he grumbled to himself.

“It just doesn’t know how thick our specific bread is,” Jack assured Mark. “It’s not _intentionally_ being bad…”

Mark had his doubts about the toaster. He was personally assured it was pure evil, but so long as Jack could make it work properly, he'd tolerate its presence- for now. “So is it a sit-at-the-table-like-civilized-folk day or a  fuck-it-let's-just-eat-in-the-kitchen-like-bachelors day?”

“Let's eat in the kitchen so we don't get toast crumbs everywhere. We need to convince Thomas that it's good for you to live here and not that I'm making you live in a pig sty.” The house had gotten an even more thorough cleaning for Thomas than it did for Maggie, and most of Mark's belongings ended up moved into Jack's room. Then Jack had chased Mark around with the hoover yesterday when Mark traipsed in fresh dirt from the garden just after Jack finished cleaning the floors.

Mark nabbed the first two pieces of toast for himself and shrugged as he spread butter onto one slice. “We’re two bachelors sharing a whole house. If Tom isn't expecting _a little_ mess then his expectations are way too high. Besides, my house wasn't always perfect. My _room_ wasn't always perfect. One time I went and ate on Tom’s bed, _on purpose,_ because I knew I'd get crumbs everywhere. So then he dumped a bunch of ants in _my_ bed. Basically, our mom was pretty pissed, and we both got in trouble. So yeah. He's used to it.”

Jack wrinkled his nose as Mark swiped the toast, but he didn't complain. “I know. I _know_ Tom's gonna be realistic. But I also know he's the only thing keeping your moms from charging to Ireland. I need to keep him happy and impressed with me if I want him to stay an ally in that particular battle.”

A soft smile tugged at Mark’s lips. “It would take an absolute _moron_ not to see you've taken good care of me. And that's coming _from_ an absolute moron, so.” The look he sent Jack when he turned his head was chock full of affection and gratitude.

Jack wiggled a little, looking down at his feet as his ears went pink. “I can barely take care of _myself_ half the time,” he protested. “I'm not _really_ that great for you…” Jack fished out the next slices of toast and popped two more pieces of bread in.

Mark shook his head when Jack confessed his concerns. “Jack, Tom trusts you. He believes in you. Even if my moms are nagging you and don't seem to feel the same, they do. They _all_ trust me with you. If they didn't they would've come to be with me a long time ago. Seriously. My moms are just worried. But Tom’s confident in you, and he'll keep them at bay. Seeing some mess or shenanigans won't change that. If he could have seen me- _really_ seen me- back then… nothing would change his mind about you, seeing me now.” He switched to the jam for the other slice, but kept returning his brown-eyed gaze to the Irishman sitting on the counter. Jack was just so _cute_ when his ears went all pink. “This… all my improvement, Jack… it's because of _us._ It's because me, and all you've done to support me. Don't ever think otherwise.”

Jack snagged the butter from Mark so he could start buttering up his bread. “I can’t really blame them. I mean, it’s been over five months since PAX. That’s gotta be forever in mom-years.”

“That _is_ forever in mom years. A _week_ is forever in mom years. You should've seen the reactions when I said I was moving….” Mark had worried his moms would chain him up in the basement for a little while there, but Thomas helped, and so did his Cincinnati friends. Much as the brothers could drive each other up the wall, they always had each other's backs. Jack could probably understand that.

“It’s just...it feels a lot like meeting the parents,” Jack said, going even pinker, giving his legs a swing. “I know it’s _not_ , but Tom’s like, the most important person in your life. And the last thing I want is to screw things up. In any way. Between anyone. And I know I _won’t_ , but that doesn’t make it _easier_ , right?”

Mark almost wanted to laugh at just how anxious Jack was. The behavior reminded him of the guy in romantic comedies legitimately meeting with his new girlfriend’s parents for the very first time. Except Thomas was just his brother and they weren't dating, so Mark found the whole situation even _more_ hilarious- much to Jack’s obvious chagrin. “You're so nervous right now, but he's gonna show up, and you're gonna see how much of a nerd he is. And then you're going to kick yourself for getting so worked up in the first place. Trust me. Tom’s too much of a hairy marshmallow to be intimidating.” Easy for him to say. Mark was Thomas’s baby brother.

“I know, I _know_ , but it’s like...it’s like meeting you for the first time! I can’t even...I was freaking out _so much_ , you have _no_ idea!” Jack pouted at Mark. “I had myself so psyched out. Meeting other YouTubers, meeting _you_ , being in America...so many firsts! And now...now look at us. Sharing a house, sharing a _bed_?” Jack scrunched his mouth to the side to give Mark a squinty-eyed look. “You and I know it’s both platonic, but I’m the one who gets to convince a protective big brother that I’m not manipulating you into anything.”

Mark was all too happy to reminisce about whom he liked to call “baby Jack” for a moment. Just an excitable little Irish boy visiting America for the first time; meeting up with other Youtubers for the first time. Meeting his “idol” (Mark still had trouble believing that). Jack had been so anxious he looked like he might faint several times. It had been absolutely _adorable_ and just a little concerning, but Jack had made it through the convention and it was the start of a beautiful (surprisingly _important_ ) friendship.

So what if they lived together now? Plenty of people did. Roommates were a thing. Mark had them before, and this time he had a legitimate _reason._ Same thing for sharing beds. Two best friends could cuddle together platonically. Definitely. It was 2016! If it helped Mark, then it could pass and Tom could deal with it. Maybe. (Okay now Mark was getting a little nervous as he hadn't considered the whole “platonically sleeping together” chat.) He shook his head. Thomas _would_ understand- protective big brother tendencies or not. Jack had enough guilt and self-doubt as it was. “It'll be fine. You'll see.” It was all Mark could offer for the moment.

“So, uh, I was thinking. About Tom. When he shows up. If you're...if you want to work in the garden today, when he shows up, I can go over the rules with him. What is and isn't okay. Head him off before he surprises you with a hug.”

Mark gave a thoughtful hum. “Guess that's a good idea. Wouldn't want the first thing he sees of me to be a panic attack. And I _did_ want to make sure everything looked nice in the garden for tomorrow….” Mark wasn't sure if he'd have the motivation to work on it later, when Thomas was there. His brother was going to be taking up a lot of his attention after their prolonged separation and they both had much to catch up on. As he fixed up their coffees just the way they liked them, Mark’s tone gained a serious edge. “You'd better come get me soon as you're done though, JackSepticEye.” Mark handed over Jack’s prize then picked up his own mug for a sip. He leaned a hip against the counter so he could keep facing Jack as he started munching on his toast. “You know I planted some vegetables in the garden, right?”

“Oh? What sort of vegetables? I should know, I bought the seeds, but...eh. Seeds are seeds are seeds, and I don’t remember them all. Pineapple?”

The new topic Mark had chosen was far easier to chew on and Jack seemed to relax a little; good. Mark gave a snort around his next bite of toast and couldn't hide the amusement in his expression when he swallowed it down. “No. Oh my god, Jack, pineapples are _tropical._ You can't grow _pineapples_ in _Ireland._ Goddamn.”

“I swear you said something about us having pineapple plants!” Jack protested. “I _swear_ it. I thought it was weird, but _you said it_ , and you’re the gardener, so…” He huffed into his mug.

“I said we had pineapple _weed,_ Jack. It’s a weed. It’s growing back there naturally. Maybe if you paid a little more _attention_ to all my gardening babble you wouldn’t have thought pineapples were a… _vegetable-_ ” Mark emphasized the word, seeing as pineapples were fucking _fruits._ “-we were growing back there.” Actually, now that he thought about it, he could use some of the leaves from that plant in their lunch. He’d read they were great in salads.

“I don’t fucking know! I’m a whale biologist, not a botanist!” Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark. “I remembered you said we had pineapples! So I forgot the weed bit. I try not to do drugs, unlike you, Mr. My-Crack-Habit-Worries-My-Viewers!”

“Hey, I don’t do drugs anymore, okay. I only get high off life now.” Mark countered with a slight, stereotypical stoner edge to his voice. Though he didn’t smile with his mouth, there was a grin in his expression and eyes. “I got some herbs, mainly, but I planted hardy veggies that grow well here too. Carrots, cabbage, radishes…” His lips quirked into a smirk behind the rim of his coffee mug. “...potatoes.”

“So...vegetables? _Potatoes_? Dear lord, Mark, I am _not_ taking care of those things. If you want to grow potatoes, that’s fine, but you don’t tell people _I’m_ doing it. They’re _your_ potato-babies, yeah?”

Mark rolled his eyes at Jack’s dramatic reaction. “Jack, you haven’t exactly stuck your hands into _anything_ relating to the garden. So no, I wasn’t expecting you to help me grow them.”

Jack shook his head, suddenly laughing outright. “Oh fuck, we _have_ to show them off in the birthday video! Markiplier and his Irish potato-babies, because he’s gone all native! You can stand over them with your thumbs in your belt and your chest all puffed out ‘and here we have a hearty crop o’ spuds…’”

Mark  stuck his tongue out a bit. “The entire _backyard_ is my baby so you’d better be nice to it when we film the vlog tomorrow. No reckless destruction of flora.” Still, hearing Jack laugh so boisterously almost had him chuckling as well. The fondness returned to his eyes, but this time it wasn’t a result of brotherly affection. “We’re gonna show off all my hard work, all right. Including the veggies. Felix’ll never stop calling you a potato after he sees that.” It didn’t matter if they were _Mark’s_ potatoes. They were still in _Jack’s_ backyard.

“ _Your_ potatoes,” Jack said. “ _Yours_. I’m gonna...fuck. _Fuck._ I was going to call them Potatoes Fischbach, but you _know_ that’ll only make Felix insufferable about how you plus me equals baby potatoes. And I am _so_ not the mother.”

“So what then, they’re Potatoes McLoughlin? Ha! That sounds like it _could_ be your name. Guess that’s what you get for wanting to be the father. Hope you’re ready to pay child support.” Mark had no qualms with teasing Jack about the potatoes because he _knew_ nothing he did could ever beat Felix’s relentless taunting.

Jack fished out the next two slices of toast before they burned, glancing over at Mark. “How many more do you want?”

Mark sighed happily as he nibbled on his other piece of toast. “Mmm… nah. I’m good. I’m not really all that hungry and now that you’ve suggested it, I kinda wanna get to work in the garden. There’s some stuff I can pick for our lunch.” Mark blamed his nervous anticipation for his lack of appetite. The fact he could so easily turn down food at all meant a lot.

He impatiently crammed the last few bites of his toast into his mouth and hummed. Thoughts of the upcoming filming session gave him good _and_ bad butterflies. He hoped Thomas would help to settle his nerves when the time came to get in front of the camera. The fact he’d been taking lots of selfies lately had to help. “You sure you’re gonna be okay with baking that funfetti cake all by yourself? I’m not gonna walk back into a complete food disaster, am I?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You cook all the time because you wake up first and get hungry first, not because I _can’t_. Fed myself for _years_ before you came along! _And_ my parents! You wait and see. As soon as we’re done with this toast, we’re getting dressed and then you’re going outside and I’m going to create a masterpiece in here.”

Mark shot Jack a sly smile that was quickly smothered as he downed the rest of his coffee in one go. He set the empty mug in the sink with a solid _clink._ “Masterpiece, right. Just try not to use the floors and walls as a canvas, okay? Like, don’t turn _fun_ fetti into _con_ fetti, if you catch my drift. Anyway, I’mma go get dressed. If you need me to help or something just come get me.” He paused, rocking uncertainly on the balls of his feet as he turned to leave. It felt like he was forgetting to do something. Pondering on it, Mark realized he had the urge to give Jack a quick peck before bustling away. His heart plummeted into his stomach’s acid. Clearly, they’d been getting _way_ too domestic. There was no way Mark would act on that whim, so he forced himself to just turn around and head out.

What a strange compulsion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	61. 6/27: Highs and Lows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark really wants to get off the roller coaster his emotions have become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this was my first time ever writing for Thomas Fischbach, and I went off what limited information the fandom has on the secretive man! I also took a lot of inspiration from my own experience as an older sibling, so hopefully his characterization is up to par. :)
> 
> I also took some liberties with the brothers' relationship here. I figured growing up in a half-Korean household with an immigrant Korean mother, the boys would have learned at least some Korean. I like to think Tom retained his a bit better than Mark, but Mark knows some of the minor terms and nicknames they used for each other as kids. They don't use them often, or excessively, but for particularly tender moments like this one... it just slips out, like old times.
> 
> If you hover over the Korean, you can see the translation! Along with a note or two. (I've been notified this doesn't work on mobile, obviously, so I'm going to pop the translations into the end notes as well!) X3 Hopefully I did the language justice as well. Luckily, there won't be much of it in this fic. Just some simple terms. Constructive criticism on all of this is more than welcome!

After breakfast, Mark went out into the garden and easily spent the morning tending it. He’d grabbed a plastic bag on the way out that was slowly being stuffed with what edibles were available. The vegetables needed more time, but they were coming along nicely. Pride tingled along his ribcage and Mark was too buried in trimming the oak trees to notice any signs of Thomas’s arrival. Otherwise, he might not have been able to keep his promise.

He’d just been weeding the little vegetable patch he’d started up when he heard a whistle. It was a familiar tune Jack had sung to him on dark nights once or twice; some rude drinking song he could only recall a few words of. Jack had tried to teach him, one of those nights, but Mark had been _tired_ and retention of foreign languages was never his strong suit. He immediately perked up and rose to his feet so he could face the incoming Irishman. There was dirt smudged just about everywhere on him but the excitement couldn’t be denied where it shone from his face. Mark knew why Jack had come out to the garden. It just _had_ to be around the time Tom was supposed to get there by now. “Jack!”

“Hey there. So… promise you won’t get mad at me?” Jack linked his hands together behind his back. “Tom’s here...but there’s something else I want to do first. Can I give you your birthday present?”

Mark almost beamed at Jack as he drew close, but Jack’s body language and the nervous words that followed had his face falling. Eagerness shifted to confusion, and Mark was about ready to pout with disappointment. He wasn’t _mad,_ just… a little let down; lost. “Jack… I’m grateful for whatever you got me, really I am, but don’t you think seeing my brother for the first time in half a year might be just a _little_ more important?” Mark tried not to sound rude, really he did, but he couldn’t understand why Jack would want to show him his present _now_ when they’d had _all day_ to do it. _Before_ Thomas arrived.

“Ordinarily, yes,” Jack said, rocking back and forth from toes to heels. “But...Tom had to bring the last piece of it from America, and it’s kinda sorta time-sensitive, and...can you just trust me, Mark?” Jack cocked his head to the side. “I know how much you’ve wanted to see Tom again, and I wouldn’t delay it unless I thought it was _really really important._ Please?”

“Time-sensitive??” What the Hell did that even _mean?_ Mark was more lost than before and it sounded like Jack was just making up whatever in an effort to have Mark comply. He _wanted_ to feel disconcerted about the whole thing, but it was Jack, and even without the cutesy manipulation of that head tilt Mark had a tendency to listen to him. Because he _trusted_ him- more than anyone, probably. Possibly even more than he trusted _himself._ That likely wasn’t very healthy, but oh well, Jack was right. He _wouldn’t_ deny Mark what he wanted unless it was for a good reason.

Mark held his pout all the same. “Of course I trust you….” He looked towards the house, wondering where Tom was; what Jack had said to stop his brother from charging out to immediately engulf him in a hug. There was a whine building up in his throat he quickly swallowed. Mark finally dragged his gaze back to Jack and sighed heavily. “...fine. But this _better_ be as important as you say it is.”

“If you don’t think it was worth the delay, I will take care of the potatoes,” Jack said, drawing an X over his heart. “I will do more than just pay child support, I will actually nurture and help them grow.”

Mark squinted at Jack, but he couldn’t deny the weight of such a promise. Jack would only risk having to take care of the underground tubers if he was _absolutely sure_ about something. It must really be that important. Mark still sighed as he trailed after Jack across the lawn. He could come back for his gathered plants and weeds later. “I’m holding you to that, y’know. Better hope you’re not wrong about this present.”

“C’mon!” Jack bounced on his toes as they headed back, leading Mark without touching him.

Just inside, Jack stopped and looked at Mark again. “Okay, so...can you still trust me? And close your eyes...and cover your ears? I’ll lead you to the living room by your elbows...Mark, I promise, I _promise_ , there is no chance of this triggering you. I _promise_. I just didn’t have time to...wrap it...”

Mark slipped inside, tracking dirt as usual, and found himself faced with another questionable request. He stared at Jack. Just what was going on exactly? The Irishman was acting weird. What could he possibly be wanting to surprise Mark with? Mark couldn’t think of anything particularly spectacular he’d been hoping for and a wary frown etched itself onto his face. “Jack….” He really wasn’t sure about this, even if it _was_ Jack’s idea. (Didn’t have time to wrap it? He had all morning!) However, Mark claimed to trust Jack. He couldn’t very well backpedal now. If there was one person in the entire world Mark could do this for, it was Jack, because Jack was the only person who knew where all the lines and metaphorical buried tripwires for his emotions were.

Hesitantly, Mark closed his eyes and brought his hands up to cover his ears. Anxiety trickled immediately into his expression. He drew a few deep, too quick breaths and cupped his hands instead of laying them flat. He could still hear noises, but they were distorted and muffled; better. “Jack, if we’re doing this, you’d better be fast because I’m not going to lie here, I _really_ don’t like this.” Mark swallowed in an attempt to fix the dry mouth he was starting to get, and stubbornly resisted the deep-seated urge to tremble. If this gift wasn’t one of the greatest things on god’s green Earth he swore Jack was going to spend every day in that garden tending potatoes with him.

“It's okay, I'm right here. Trust me, you'll know when you can open your eyes.” Hands took Mark's elbows gently, leading Mark through the house. “Okay, we're in the hall, here's the living room, the couch is right behind you, you can sit, don't open your eyes yet…” Jack spoke loud enough for Mark to hear him. “Stay there…”

Mark’s anxiety didn’t abate as Jack led him. He kept telling himself he was moving of his own free will and the hand on his elbow belonged to Jack, but it did little to soothe his rattled nerves. He sat down when prompted and immediately hunched forward a bit. It was easier to focus on maintaining steady breathing now that he’d stopped moving. “Jack… c’mon, are we done yet?” A whine tinged his words and Mark could feel an impending panic attack on the horizon. He started to uncover his ears with the hope noise would stave it off.

Instead, he immediately heard a familiar pitter-patter and his heart leaped into his throat. “Is that-” Mark received an answer to his question before it could even be asked as something practically flew up into his lap. His eyes snapped open to reveal his vision was completely taken up by golden doggy fur. Chica yipped and yowled excitedly as she wasted no time in slobbering wet kisses all over Mark’s face. He sputtered, beyond shocked, but habitually sunk his hands into that soft fur. “Chica!” Another excited bark; he could feel her massive tail thumping wildly at his legs. She whined at him and incessantly butted her head up under his chin. Two pairs of big, warm brown eyes met.

Mark crumbled like a house of cards. His hands traveled the length of his dog; rubbing and scratching and just grasping, feeling her out, assuring himself she was real and it wasn’t just a dream. His face was soaked and sticky with dog slobber but he couldn’t care less. He left his glasses askew in favor of roughly scrubbing at Chica’s head and ears. “Chica! Oh, Chica, Chica-bica, you’re here. You’re actually here, you’re okay, o-oh my god….” Mark hiccuped as all other emotions and thoughts were shoved to the wayside in favor of happy tears. He held Chica’s head still, gently, with his hands so he could just _look_ at her. “I f-forgot how beautiful you were, girl. I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry I haven’t been there, oh pupperschnupp, oh my little Chica….”

The golden retriever licked at his nose and gave another soft little yip in her own giddiness. Mark’s sob was caught up in a chuckle and he wrapped his arms around the big dog. She was perfectly content to be pulled in close for a hug, having settled firmly and resolutely in Mark’s lap. _No one_ was moving her any time soon. Mark buried his face into the soft fur of her chest and listened to the quiet heartbeat there; felt how her stomach rose and fell with her steady panting. She was alive. Chica was alive and unharmed and sitting in his arms, and it was officially the best birthday present ever- hands down. Something in Mark that had been cracked and taped over was sealed back up again as Chica nosed affectionately at his hair. A little doggy huff of air sent the dark strands billowing and his responding giggle was muffled by golden fur.

“Happy birthday, Mark,” Jack said. “Worth delaying Thomas?”

Mark muffled another sob into Chica’s fur and vigorously nodded his head. He snuffled and nuzzled at his precious companion before forcing his head to turn so he could respond better to Jack; his cheek remained firmly pressed into her fur nonetheless. “Yes, y-yes, god yes, thank you, th-thank you Jack thank you, oh my god….” Mark’s face was a mess of tears and snot and dog saliva spotted with bits of fur but it was also hosting possibly the happiest expression he had mustered since he was kidnapped. There wasn’t a trace of anxiety or hesitance there; only unbridled joy.

Jack held up his phone. “I'm sorry, Mark, I recorded that without asking, but I'd like to show it to Tom, if that's okay with you. I figured after flying out to L.A.to get her, and then taking the full fourteen hour flight to get here, he deserved to see your reunion. I'll delete the video immediately after showing him. No one else will see it.” Jack stepped toward the door. “I'll be in the guest room with Tom whenever you're ready. And Chica...Chica is staying here with us as long as you are. Tom and I took care of all the paperwork to bring being a dog into the country. The only thing she still needs is her tags and collar.”

Mark turned his face back into Chica some and gave another trembling nod. His arms hadn’t loosened around the dog for even a second. “I-it’s fine, it’s fine, h-he can see… he deserves to see, god, I owe him…. I owe you… fuck, Chica, Chica baby you get to be with daddy now, it’s okay. Oh Chica I love you so much… such a good, good girl. Good dog, Chica….” Mark trailed off into slight baby talk nonsense that kept Chica’s tail wagging. She licked at his ear and gave Jack’s retreating form a little bark of dismissal. She could take it from here, thank you very much.

“It's a _birthday present_ , Mark. You don't have to repay birthday presents.”

Mark didn’t have any more words for Jack’s retreating form, so he just focused on the overgrown puppy panting happily in his lap. He scrubbed again at her head before smothering every inch he could reach with affectionate kisses; all of which were eagerly returned. He giggled and squeezed Chica tight. “Oh, I missed you so damn much, Chica. I’m sorry I left you for so long. I promise I won’t do it again. Never ever _ever,_ baby girl.”

Chica whined in response and settled down to lay across Mark’s lap. He leaned back, never taking his arms off of her, and emitted a happy sigh. “Best birthday present ever. I don’t know how I’m ever gonna thank Jack for this…. Can’t believe he kept you under wraps for so long.”

Mark was still very emotional, and he knew Jack needed to chat with Thomas some more. He indulged in just sitting there on the couch with his beloved dog for a while. It was easy to zone out to the sound of quiet doggy snuffles and the occasional panting while he languidly stroked along Chica’s back. With sunlight streaming in through the window, it had to be one of the most peaceful scenes Mark had ever experienced indoors. There was little he would trade it for in the world.

As he scraped fingers lovingly through Chica’s fur, something felt off. Curious, Mark brushed aside some of the golden fluff to reveal Chica was lacking a collar. He blinked in surprise and tilted his head. “Huh… what happened to your collar, bub? Don’t tell me you lost it. Maybe Tom took it off for the flight so you’d be more comfortable….” It didn’t make much sense, but it was the best Mark had at the moment. Still, it felt wrong for Chica not to have some kind of collar on. Except the only one he had available was…

“Right…” Mark murmured thoughtfully, reaching up to touch at his shirt collar. It neatly concealed the pink dog collar from view, for Tom’s sake. Until Mark was ready to tell him about it (if he ever did). Mark glanced back down at Chica’s bare neck. She was looking up at him with a tilted head and curious expression. Maybe she missed her old collar. Maybe, with her here now, he could…

A spike of fear chilled its way through his guts at the thought of giving up the strip of pink nylon. He sucked in a quick breath and clutched around his throat; as if there was an immediate threat of something ripping the collar straight from his neck. Threatening to steal it away forever; throw it away; refuse to let him have it because it was _wrong_ and a symbol of his abuse. It felt like a hand was squeezing around his heart. Mark’s breaths, which were becoming increasingly shallow and quick, abruptly slowed as a wet warmth slid across the back of his other hand.

Mark looked back down, eyes focusing on Chica. She whined up at him in obvious concern and just like that the pressure melted away. He smiled, releasing his death grip on the collar to scrub affectionately at her head and ears once more. “Ooooh Chica, my little pupper, I’m sorry. I’m okay. Daddy’s okay, he just…” Mark sighed. “He can’t give you back your collar just yet, okay? Maybe Tom has your new one. I’ll try to ask him when we go see him, okay? I promise you’ll get your collar back. I promise.” Mark bit at his lip and leaned back into the couch cushions once more. Making promises was easy. Keeping them...

Eventually, he knew he needed to get up and go see his brother. It wasn’t as if Mark didn’t want to see Thomas anymore. He was just comfortable and relishing the fact he had his precious companion back in his arms. Enough time must have passed by now. Grunting softly, he sat up and coaxed Chica down off his lap. “C’mon, girl. C’mon puppershnupp, we’re gonna go see Tom now. Tom and Jack; you wanna see Uncle Jack again, don’tcha?”

Taking a moment to stretch out his limbs, which had been falling asleep, Mark headed to his old bedroom. He could still hear voices beyond the door but lingering around would only serve to multiply his nerves. He lifted his hand and gave a little knock.

Chica, knowing people were in the room, followed up with a short bark and light scratching at the wood. There was a beat or two of silence while Mark debated with himself, and then his voice came at half volume through the thick panel. “Can I come in now? Or are you guys still talking about… stuff?” Mark _knew_ what they were discussing. He wasn’t stupid, but he also didn’t like to think about the fact rules and expectations needed to be set before someone met him. Before his _own brother_ greeted him. Chica whined softly where she sat at his feet and bumped her head against his thigh in a show of support.

“Get in here, Mark. You really gonna make me wait another minute?”

Mark heard Tom’s voice and instantly pushed the door open. It sounded different, without the interference of static and distance and computers. Chica padded in happily first and gave Jack’s knee a sniff in greeting; earning herself a pat. Then her tongue lolled out and she turned to Tom, sitting between his leg and the bed. Mark trailed after her, movements a little more tentative, fingers toying with the green bracelet on his wrist.

Watching the two brothers was like viewing a pair of animals. Neither really moved, for a handful of time. Tom watched Mark evenly; patiently. Mark glanced repeatedly at the other man but was unable to make his gaze linger for very long. His thoughts kept circling back to everything Tom must have seen; what he’d been thinking all these months. What he thought now, seeing him in person, even if Mark’s appearance had come a long way from the hospital. He still hadn’t gotten _all_ of his muscle back- was still a little too pale. There were scars on his hands where the sleeves ended and more spotting his face, but it wasn’t just physical.

There was a darkness in Mark’s eyes now. A blanket over his personality- his demeanor- he was still working to shake off. Jack had watched the gradual improvement and was happy with it but for Tom, he was only seeing the difference between old Mark and new Mark. He’d notice those changes in a heartbeat; things missing or dampened that Mark had carried with him since childhood. He would notice, and he would worry, and his mind would make its judgments whether he wanted it to or not. Would Tom still even see him as that same little brother from all those years ago? The one who would stupidly stick his hand into wasp nests; collect tadpoles in little glass jars and wonder what had possibly gone wrong the next morning? Did Tom still see all of that in Mark, or had experiences and distance made them strangers-

“Hey. _Aga._ You know you’re allowed to come over here, right? I’m not gonna bite you. Though I can give you a hug, if you want.”

Tom’s soft, gentle voice broke through Mark’s downward spiral of thoughts. The drop of Korean, of a nickname Tom used to call him teasingly as children but touched less frequently now, pierced his heart like a perfectly aimed arrow. He watched, awestruck, as the man he’d always idolized and looked up to (especially after the death of their father) quietly spread his arms out to either side of his body. The silent warmth of the invitation nearly made his knees weak with the amount of sheer emotion that went crashing through him. His eyes stung, and his lip started to wobble. “ _Keun._ Tom… Thomas….” His voice broke and Mark shuffled towards the man sitting on what had been his bed; sight growing thick and watery with unshed tears. Of course Tom would be the person to break the metaphorical dam.

“I’m here, _namdongsaeng , _I’m here. Sorry it took so long.”

That cued up the waterworks and Mark let loose a hushed sob, closing the remaining distance between them. _“Tom.”_ There was a beat, just a breath of uncertainty as Mark leaned in, but two sets of warm brown met in the middle and when Mark saw tears starting to fall there too, he practically collapsed into his brother’s welcoming arms. The sob that came next was louder, harsher; Tom gently shushed him.

Mark’s arms wound tight around the older man and his hands clenched so his fingers could dig into the soft material of Tom’s black hoodie. He tucked his chin into a shoulder just as broad as his own and choked on another sob as fresh tears freely cascaded down his face. Tom, in response, curled his arms softly around his brother. Mark tensed briefly against him and Tom lightened his hold.

“Shhh. Shhh, _aga , _it’s okay. It’s okay, Mark. I’m here. I’m here. _Goyohan, goyohan._ _Goyohan, aga…. ”_

Mark closed his eyes and clung to Tom like a lifeline as he cried. It was heartfelt and ugly and it felt so, so _good_ to be wrapped up in his brother’s arms again; to hear that deep voice crooning in his ear like they were kids and Mark had just fallen off his bike. He had more than scrapes or bruises, now, but Tom touched deep in a way Jack never could. He tapped into that familial bond they’d shared since Mark’s birth and the soon-to-be twenty-eight year old folded. He could feel strong hands, calloused from pencils and pens, rubbing gently along his back and shoulders. Mark’s breath hitched and he mumbled a jumble of nonsense into Tom’s nearby ear: bits of words he barely remembered, variants on Tom’s name, apologies, declarations of familial love and longing. Tom just held him through it, soothing him with touch and with words, his own quiet tears trickling down into Mark’s shirt. At the Fischbachs’ feet, Chica happily thumped her tail.

Mark and Tom stayed tangled up in their emotional embrace for quite some time. Even after they’d both finished crying, Mark laid stubbornly in his big brother’s arms. Tom pulled back until Mark’s hold relinquished somewhat. Just enough to put some space between them so he could look at his brother again.

Mark’s face was beyond red and puffy from crying. Without the dye in his hair, he looked just like a kid again. Tom’s entire expression melted into something distinctly fond and removing a hand from his brother’s back, he brought it around to squeeze between them. “Here, let me…?” He quirked a brow, gesturing towards Mark’s messy face as he pulled a corner of his sleeve into his fingers. Mark gave an especially loud snuffle, then nodded. Tom was slow and gentle as he worked to clean up Mark’s face a little bit. He took an extra second to straighten the skewed spectacles. Still smiling, the middle knuckle on his index finger softly tapped twice against Mark’s sticky cheek. _“Gi gi? ”_

Mark’s eyes widened some. He stared at Tom, and after a few seconds the older man bit at his lip. Then Mark’s expression relaxed and he gave a slight nod of consent. _“ Gi gi.” _

Tom practically beamed. He pressed a quick kiss to the rise of Mark’s cheek bone and was then just as fast to distance himself again. All Mark did was give a tiny smile and return the gesture, more towards the middle of Tom’s cheek. Both brothers shared a silent sort of understanding, and then Tom chuckled. “You owe me a hoodie, _‘saekki. _ I missed you. You like your birthday present?”

Mark’s eyes lit up with a ghost of that joy he’d shown in the living room. “Yeah! Oh _Hell yeah,_ Tom, oh my god. I still can’t believe you brought Chica all the way here with you. That’s _insane._ ”

Tom just shook his head a bit and glanced over to Jack. “It was mostly his idea. He’s the one that talked me into it. So now he gets to deal with all the floor poops. Well, him and _you._ ” His hand hovered uncertainly before he let it drop and maintained his easy smile. “Of course, if you _really_ wanted to thank me, I believe I was promised a healthy lunch upon arrival….”

Mark sputtered at that and wormed out of Tom’s arms; stumbling back onto his feet. “Oh _fuck,_ I forgot! Shit. Hey Jack, do me a favor and get out that chicken I cooked last night, would you? I gotta go get the greens from outside. C’mon, Chica! C’mon girl, let’s go outside, let’s see if you gotta go potty. C’mon.” His voice took up a sweeter, babying tone as he tapped at his thighs. Chica was up and trailing after him out the door in a heartbeat, leaving brother and roommate alone once more.

It didn’t take him long to grab up the last few plants and stuff them into his bag, though Chica held him up as she dive bombed several spots in the garden. By the time Mark bounded back into the kitchen with his plastic bag, Tom and Jack were having coffee. There was still dirt smudged on his hands and cheeks but Chica was thankfully clean. “Had to stop her like seven times from rolling around in the dirt.” At Tom’s behest, Mark washed up before getting to work on their lunch. Tom immediately teased Mark for it being a salad. Mark huffed right back and the brothers shared banter while Mark worked; Jack interjecting and dragging himself into the mess where viable. Tom also used the time to personally update Mark on how their moms were doing and told him they demanded a video chat tomorrow when they got the chance.

About twenty minutes later they were all sitting down to lunch with a happy Chica munching out of her doggy bowl. Seeing that had been tense for Mark at first, but Jack filled it for him and watching Chica use it dispelled some of the fear; he was just too happy to see her. The humans’ lunch consisted of some peppermint and pineapple weed leaves from the garden, coupled with storebought arugula for bulk. It had orange segments and dried cranberries (both also storebought) with the sliced chicken and a choice of several dressings the boys kept on hand. All in all, Mark felt pretty pleased with the results. He smirked at them both for doubting him. “And you said I couldn't be healthy. Ha! Wait until you taste the stuff from the garden. It's great.”

Tom shook his head with a bemused little smile and shot Jack a sly look. “Is he always like this?”

“He's _your_ brother,” Jack pointed out, poking at all the green stuff with his fork. “If you don't know him by now, I can't help you there. Mark, you're _positive_ this is edible and not poisonous? Because I know you told me this stuff was already growing wild and not something you planted.”

“True, true. Unless he's been tainted by the Irish ways. He _is_ always messing around in your soil.” Tom tucked in without much fuss and gave a pleased hum at the taste. “That's pretty good actually. Well done, Mark. You've managed to impress me. Now make something healthy that's _not_ a salad and I'll give you full kudos.”

Jack soon followed suit. “Crunchy...and a little sweet. If I die from this, Felix gets my Xbox.”

“Oh hardy har har you two. No Jack, it's not poisonous, I told you I've checked several sources. I've even eaten some in the garden before! It's delicious. And goes really good with the peppermint we have back there.” Mark chuckled a bit as he remembered that first day coming in from the garden. It took Jack _ages_ to realize candy canes hadn't magically sprouted up somewhere in the house. He munched happily on his salad and flipped Jack a quick, lighthearted bird. “Well I already have one anyway so nyeh.”

“You are a brave man, Mark Fischbach, and that's all I'm gonna say.”

Mark preened at Jack’s compliment, exaggerated or not.

Jack glanced over at Mark, then looked to Thomas. “So, Tom, has Mark told you about tomorrow? Because you don't get a choice. You have to participate. Birthday boy's orders.”

At the mention of the birthday party, the brothers expressed two very different reactions. Mark positively beamed, even with the little bubble of nerves its mention created, and shot Tom a mischievous look. Tom, on the other hand, hosted a mixture of surprise, apprehension and curiosity. He glanced between the two younger men like an adult cornered by a couple of particularly rambunctious children. (That analogy wasn't too far off the mark.) “He… may have mentioned a party, and a vlog attempt…. Why are you both looking at me like that. What do you two have planned. Should I call the fire department to be on standby? Paramedics? The Irish Air Force?”

“Does the Irish even _have_ an Air Force??” Mark muttered speculatively.

“We are making the biggest shitpost of a party ever, vlogging the whole thing, and you and I get to be _all_ the party guests.” Jack grinned at Tom. “Which means you're gonna be on camera. A _lot_. We… might want paramedics on standby. Not the air force--which we _do_ have, thank you very much--because they might just carpet-bomb us.”

Mark sputtered a bit into his juice at Jack’s joke and pulled back with a soft laugh. “Wipe us off the face of the Earth before we can permanently scar its youth forever. We won't _need_ paramedics, Jack! We all know the basics, right? Heimlich, CPR, bet we could invent some makeshift chest paddles if we had to. Google knows everything!”

“It's really a miracle Ireland has allowed us to survive this long,” Jack said with a solemn nod.

Tom looked about as enthusiastic as Jack had towards his salad. He pressed a hand to the side of his face with a long suffering sigh. “Well, at least I'll be in costume…. You're lucky I love you so much, _‘saekki._ ” His fingers twitched lightly against the table. “Fine, no paramedics. But you two better have a first aid kit or no party. And there better not be any intense pyrotechnics or knife throwing.”

“Oh Mark. Tom has agreed without even seeing the costumes we've picked out. He must _really_ love you.”

The rest of lunch was spent filling Tom on the plans. Of course, _after_ lunch Jack had to grumble about the dirt everywhere and dig out the hoover again. He chased Mark out of the kitchen and Tom took the opportunity to invite Mark for a more private chat- without the Irish supervision. Chica too was more than content to linger in the kitchen with Jack; licking up anything he was unfortunate enough to spill on the floor. When Tom clicked the bedroom door shut and joined Mark on his temporary guest bed, it was just the two of them. Mark, though still giddy and buzzing about how great the day had been going, felt a little nervous.

Mark’s hand traveled towards his neck- only to stop and descend to the bracelet instead. He twisted it around his fingers as he tried to keep up a smile for his brother. Tom wasn’t smiling. He was frowning in that way he tended to without the use of his mouth: a slight furrow of his brows and a hardness in his eyes. They couldn’t hide _anything_ from each other. Tom clenched his hands into fists against his jeans, drew a deep breath through his nose, and spoke.

“Mark. I want you to know I’m not mad at you. Or Jack. I’m just… concerned. About your sleeping arrangements. Jack explained why I have a guest room now and I just…. I wanted to talk to you about it. Hear how you feel and make sure you know just what you’re doing by sleeping with him-”

“I’m _not_ sleeping with him.” Mark immediately interjected with more than a hint of defensiveness in his tone. His cheeks were a little pink with embarrassment at being called out by his brother, but he wasn’t about to lay down and let Jack receive flak he didn’t deserve.

Tom sighed. “That’s not… Mark, that’s not how I meant it. I _know_ you two aren’t doing anything. At least, I _hope_ Jack was being honest with me there…” He quirked a brow at Mark.

Mark bristled a bit more; cheeks darkening. “Jack _isn’t_ lying, Tom, oh my god. He’s not trying to hide some kind of deeper or sexual relationship from you. We haven’t done anything. We’re not into each other that way. I don’t even think he’s into guys!” He considered his words for a moment, then quickly sputtered, “A-and I’m not either! Probably! So stop trying to suggest he’s _luring me into sex_ or something.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Calm down. I’m sorry.” Tom raised his hands in a placating gesture but it didn’t settle Mark much. He was fidgeting more agitatedly with his bracelet now and not looking at Tom as often. Tom pressed on nonetheless. “Okay, so you two _aren’t_ doing anything besides sleeping together in the same bed and cuddling. Fine. Do you still think that’s a good idea? It… it sounds a little _codependent,_ Mark. You already live with him. Needing to sleep with him too? What if he’s… I don’t know, _imprinted_ on you or something? Gotten you attached to him as your lifeline after all the trauma you faced?”

Mark glared at Tom. His love and trust in his brother was warring strongly with indignation and a growing sense of dread. He’d stopped playing with the bracelet as he stared the older man down. “...what are you trying to say, Tom.” His voice had become deep and chilling; daring his brother to speak out against Jack’s virtues again. It wasn’t a question.

Tom had never been cowed by Mark and he wasn’t about to be now. He gave a harsh, heavy sigh. “You ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome, Mark? That thing you get when your abuser or captor is _nice_ to you? You start to sympathize with them, and you get attached. You defend everything they do- no matter _how_ terrible. You never want to be apart. It’s _not healthy._ Coming here, finding out about this… I have no doubts Jack can take care of you. Really. I’m sure he’s done a _great_ job. But I think… whether purposefully or not… he might be manipulating you-”

“Shut up.”

“Mark. Seriously. I’m just worried about you, okay? You’ve been stuck here in Ireland for months with Jack as your only real source of human contact. He’s the first one who showed you kindness and care. He’s the one introducing you back into society and helping you adjust. Until now, you’ve had no direct contact with your friends or family or any type of outside opinion at all. I doubt you’ve been sharing all of this with your therapists-”

“Shut up.”

“-or they would have _told you exactly what I am._ Being this attached to anyone _isn’t healthy,_ Mark! Maybe you are recovering but at the same time you could be getting stuck in this rut with Jack. What happens when your lungs are healthy again? What happens when you need to come _home?_ You can’t stay here like this with him forever. You need to start trying to distance yourself after I leave and the bedroom is free again-”

“I said _shut up,_ Tom.” There was an edge to Mark’s voice that time. His volume had increased as well, in an effort for his words to be heard. His glare had evolved into a full-on _glower_ at his brother. Tom’s brown eyes hardened a bit more in response, though he wasn’t glaring yet. They’d had arguments like this before. They were brothers; it was to be expected.

“ _No,_ Mark. I won’t shut up. This is something you _both_ need to hear. I trust Jack’s capabilities, which is why I’ve been doing my best to give you two space. To keep our moms at bay from trying to interfere with things here. But maybe I should’ve pushed more. Maybe I should’ve asked more questions. It’s not right for Jack to be your sole influence during your recovery.” Their voices were beginning to rise, but with the thick walls of the cottage they’d need to be screaming for anyone else- for _Jack-_ to notice.

“Shut up!! Just shut up, Tom! You don’t know _anything._ You don’t know what it’s been like. What we’ve _both_ been going through. How many nights I would wake up, _screaming,_ loud enough to wake Jack from what little sleep _he_ was getting between his own nightmares. He’d sit up with me, _every night,_ until I went back to sleep. He’d coax me back to reality through every panic attack. He’s kept me _sane_ all these months. He’s done so much to help me, and sleeping together is helping us both, so you don’t have _any right_ to say his influence is anything but good-”

“You say you’re recovering Mark but you’re still wearing that fucking collar!!” Tom immediately jerked back with wide eyes and a horrified expression, but it was too late to take it back now. Some of the anger Mark had been exhibiting crumbled into shame, embarrassment and shock.

Mark’s hand immediately flew up to where the collar was hidden and his fingers pressed through the fabric of the high shirt collar, feeling the familiar bump and shape of the dog tag. He stared at his brother, struck, and then ducked his head a bit. He stared hard at the bedspread while a whirlwind of emotions swarmed across his face. His voice had lost its volume and fervor in the wake of Tom’s accusation. “...that… has _nothing_ to do with any of this, Tom…. It wasn’t Jack’s decision…. It was _my_ decision…. Because… because it _helps_ me, just like sleeping with Jack does-”

“ _Mark,_ don’t you see the problem with that? You’re equating Jack to a tool those people used to _break you._ ”

“No. That’s not what I said. Shut up.”

_“Mark-”_

“I said shut up!! Shut up, damn it, shut up shut up shut up Jack isn’t them, he’s not, he’s _nothing_ like them Tom how could you even say that, how could you claim all these things when you haven’t been here, when Jack’s the _only person that’s been here for me_ and oh god he told you, he told you, that’s how you know that’s _why you know_ he knew I didn’t want anyone to know but he told you, probably because you made him, because- because-” Mark drew a deep, ragged breath. His mind was racing and he couldn’t keep a count of his inhales and exhales. They were all blending together as he started to tremble in his seat. He’d practically ripped open the collar of his shirt to grasp at the rough pink material hiding underneath.

“Mark?? Mark! Mark, Mark-”

Mark flinched when something drew near. He was shaking and gasping out heaving breaths; brown eyes wild, flitting about, growing wetter and wetter with unshed tears. The weight beside him came noticeably closer.

Mark flailed away from it, falling from his seat. He was openly sobbing now and muttering absolute nonsense under his breath where he curled up on the floor. His eyes were squeezed closed as he tried to shut out the world, but it only made his attack worse. It put him back in that room; made the presence he could sense hovering over him malicious.

“Go away go awaygoaway _goaway_ god please just leave me alone, leave me alone I can’t, you’re wrong- y-you’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re _fucking wrong_ he’s not- I’m n-not-” Mark was definitely starting to hyperventilate as his anxiety spiked through the roof.

There was white noise, and eventually he wasn’t even muttering to himself anymore. Just whimpering and sobbing as he curled into the tightest ball imaginable to defend himself from some invisible horror. Gradually, snippets of words filtered in, but he wished more than anything he’d remained deafened to them.

“ ** _Markimoo…._** C’mon, **_Markimoo,_** don’t you wanna come back to me? You can do it. You can do it, **_Markimoo-_** ”

_“You can do it,_ **_Markimoo._ ** _Breathe for me, pup. Godfuck you’re so tight.”_

“Come back to me, **_Markimoo._** C’mon-”

_“C’mere_ **_Markimoo._ ** _C’mon. Come here, boy. That’s a good boy. Come back to your master.”_

“-C’mon, **_Markimoo_**. Speak to me. _Say something._ Speak.”

**_“Markimoo, speak. I said_ ** **_speak_ ** **_.”_ **

“I’m sorry.”

The words were almost inaudible as Mark finally moved.

“I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll speak. I’ll speak, I promise, just don’t hurt me, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me… please….”

Finally, a nonsensical burble of noise, but Mark took it as further threat nonetheless. _“Please.”_ The word caught on a sob as Mark shoved himself up. He crawled back, leaving behind his soaked glasses on the floor. He wasn’t looking- wasn’t seeing much of _anything._ Only the demons of his own mind, leering down at him and eager to punish for any minor transgression. He crawled until his back hit a wall and his breath hitched with pure fear. Brown eyes, wide and unseeing, became shadowed by his fringe as he ducked his head down. Mark curled up into the most submissive position he could muster and went silent again.

He stared down at the floor, listlessly, the fingers of one hand still resting numbly on his exposed collar. He was in his own world, now. _Their_ world.

He did notice shouting, at one point; a ghost of raised voices and heated words. _They_ used to argue over his head with those voices, used to fight over what torture to inflict next or how a scene should be filmed. Mark hated it. They always made him feel like a toy or some kind of prize to be fought over. He pulled away when one of the voices was directed at him instead. No, no, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want _anything_ from them. Mark just wanted to be left alone. He shifted away with a whimper that was so quiet it could easily be missed and redirected his gaze under… something. There was a gap. He was considering it as a hiding spot if things escalated again.

He took better to singing, once his brain could finally latch onto the sound. Slowly, he stopped trying to wiggle away. Mark started looking at a blur of green and blue in front of him. A warm, fuzzy weight settled against his side and in contrast, something cold and wet pressed to his cheek. The next sensation there was sticky and wet but not in a bad way. Mark’s fingers twitched.

Between the gentle singing and out of place sensations, Mark was drawn back to reality. He continued to watch the blur of color because it was a little more engaging and alluring for his eyes, but his arms and body moved to the fluffy bulk beside him. Gradually, he leaned his weight against it in turn and let his head tilt so his cheek could rest on the softness while his arms looped sluggishly about it in a loose hug. Vaguely, he registered a distant bark and thumping. The warm stickiness returned to brush across his arm. An undetermined amount of time later, Mark gave a single sniffle, then turned to bury his face in his dog’s fur. Chica whined and tucked her muzzle over top of his head protectively.

“Mark? Mark, are you back with me? Mark?”

There was another muffled sniffle, and Mark attempted to burrow himself deeper into Chica’s fur. His upper half was practically tucked _behind_ her and his legs were still pulled up close against what abdomen was left by Chica’s side. His fingertips dug into the soft warmth of his living, breathing dog and this time a sob was stifled. Chica released a loud, open-mouthed whine that morphed into a slight yowl at the end; clearly directed towards Mark. She huffed against his dark hair and then nuzzled at the back of his head and neck with her face. He shuddered, squeezed at her, and gave the shakiest nod he could muster. He was back, but that didn’t mean he was _better._

“Want some tissues?” Jack asked. “Want your glasses? Want some tea? Your glasses are near your left knee, Mark. You can put them on if you want. You’re safe here.”

Mark gave a single nod to each of Jack’s offers. They were a little sturdier than the first but he still wasn’t talking just yet, or looking at Jack. Snuffling, it was an effort for him to remove an arm from Chica’s bulk. He patted around blindly for his glasses and upon finding them, Mark dragged the spectacles around the dog to where his face was hidden. He slipped them on, but didn’t come out from behind her back. He let his hips turn so his legs could flop against Chica as well. Mark stayed there, just like that, until he heard Jack move- presumably to get tissues or the tea.

“Tom left the room. It’s just us, Mark. Tissues are near your knee too.”

Mark curled up a bit tighter against Chica and spoke. His voice was a little raspy. It was also extremely quiet and passive, but it was still his voice. “...don’t be mad at Tom….” His cheek was squished against Chica’s back.

“Mark… Mark, I’m more mad at myself, really. I didn’t warn him about the name. It completely slipped my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Mark waited until he heard Jack shift away to reach for the tissues and found them faster than his glasses. Snagging a couple, he repeated the same process as before; bringing them around behind Chica so he could keep hiding. He sniffled and blew his nose. “I-it’s okay. It's okay. H-he didn't mean it. It's okay.” It was difficult for Mark to decipher if he was talking to Jack, himself or the both of them.

“He had no way of knowing...and he did call for help. He did get Chica for you. I’m so fucking glad we got her here. I’ll...I’ll talk to Tom. Apologize for yelling at him. I was just...I was scared. This was a bad one.”

Chica gave a soft little borf and Mark nodded into her fur. “Me too.” She was officially the best therapy he could have ever gotten and her tail wagged with pride. “...he’ll apologize t-too. Tell him I forgive him. Please. I can't… I d-don’t know if I can go out there right now.” There was a quiet rustling while Mark rubbed his cheek against Chica’s back. She licked comfortingly at his shoulder.

“That's okay,” Jack said, still talking softly; soothingly. “Do you want to stay in here? Or would you like to move to the other room, curl up with Chica and Chica Junior in our bed? I can bring you some tea wherever.”

Mark considered for a moment. He really didn't want to move but the floor was getting more and more uncomfortable. He could get in his old bed, but it wouldn't smell like Jack. It wouldn't even smell like _him._ It would be new and unfamiliar all over again. If he moved to their bed- _Jack’s_ bed- it would smell like them both, but _especially_ Jack. It would help him to stay grounded and he knew he'd feel the most relaxed in that room. “...yeah. Yeah, I… I wanna move. I'll go over there when you leave, okay? With Chica. Just… bring the tea whenever it's ready, please.” He needed space. Much as he wanted to be wrapped up in _Jack,_ people weren't something he could deal with right now. He was forever grateful for Chica.

Chica, who couldn’t shout or scream. Mark’s stomach twisted as he recalled the two men arguing over his head; over him. The context was different, but the scenario was too much the same. Jack should probably know. “...I got really scared when you two started arguing, I…. I don't really remember it, but I know I was scared. I wanted to crawl under the bed. They… they argued a lot… a-about me… over me…. It was too much.” Between the nickname and that callback to the room, Mark had been pretty stuck in his own memories.

“I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't even think...I've done way too much not thinking today. I'm sorry. I'll do better. And I'll let Tom know too. This won't happen again. Do you...when I get your tea, would you like him to come back too? Or would that be too much right now?”

Quietly, Mark began stroking at Chica’s golden fur, the action equally soothing for both of them. His voice had evened out but it was still a whisper. Part of him was terrified of speaking even at normal volume. “It's okay. You didn't know. He didn't know.” Of course Mark would forgive them both. It would just take time for him to re-acclimate himself after such a nasty break down. “...tell him… tell him I'm sorry, I just… I don't think it'd be a good idea to see him right now. He's too unfamiliar, I'm sorry, please tell him I'm so sorry….” His voice cracked with guilt and he'd gone back to burying his face into Chica’s fur. She whined.

“Okay. Okay. Are you going to want me to sit with you, or just bring you the tea and leave you on your own?”

There was another pause of silence as Mark considered the new question. Eventually, he shrugged a bit helplessly. “Ask me… ask me when you bring it. I dunno if I'll feel any different by then.” Being in a more comfortable setting with Chica cuddled up in his arms might relax him enough to allow Jack contact, at least. He wanted to keep the option open because he _knew_ Jack was hurting. Mark didn't need to see or hear him. Last time this happened, it had been extremely rough on Jack, but Mark was better now. He didn't have to let Jack suffer alone. Tom… he'd make it up to Tom. (Though he knew his brother would be busy trying to make things up to him.)

“Okay,” Jack repeated. “Give me ten minutes.”

Mark waited until he couldn’t hear Jack’s retreating footsteps anymore. Slowly, he peeled himself away from Chica, bits of dog fur stuck to his face and clothes. He sputtered and swiped around, managing to dislodge some of it. Then Chica licked his face and he was sent back to square one in the hygiene department. He sighed. “Looks like I’m taking a shower today, after all.” He couldn’t bring himself to even be irritated with her, though. Chica had done everything they were hoping for and more in terms of helping Mark with his anxiety. Her mere existence in front of him stood in the face of everything he’d been told in that room and her wet doggy kisses were hard to mistake for anything else.

He gave her a soft smile. “Goo… I mean, nice girl, Chica. Very nice.” Mark bit back the words, still too shaken, and pet at her head affectionately. He held out his palm and she returned the gesture with a few more comforting licks, yipping at him. “Yeah, c’mon. Let’s go. C’mon, Chica. C’mon girl.” His voice became coaxing as he forced himself onto stiff legs. Chica rose with him and immediately pressed in against his side for support, making his heart swell gently in his chest. “Best dog, good friend.” Mark’s fingertips maintained contact with the top of Chica’s head all the way to Jack’s bedroom, hurrying down the hall as swiftly as his numb legs would allow.

The moment he entered the other bedroom, he regained a sort of ease. The content feelings he’d experienced earlier that day seeped back into his skin inch by inch the further he went. Ironically, if the cottage was his- _their-_ sanctuary, then Jack’s bedroom had become their inner sanctum. Mark didn’t feel more relaxed anywhere else besides the garden and no place was safer (in his rattled mind). With the real Chica now there to climb into bed with him, it was almost perfect. Mark could snuggle down into the pillows and duvet that still reeked of Jack. Call back the soft warmth of that morning, when they lay cuddled up together like so many others. Part of him wanted to recreate that; the other cringed at the thought of getting so close to a person.

However, Chica was a dog, no matter how much personality she might have. She was safe. Dogs hadn’t hurt him- people did. He wrapped his arms around her once he convinced her it was okay to join him on the bed and she flopped beside him without hesitation, tucking her muzzle over his head in that same protective gesture she’d done earlier. Surrounded by two things he loved (one being present in spirit), Mark was able to curl up and just focus on his breathing. He couldn’t sync it to Chica’s the way he did with Jack, but he could listen to her heartbeat. His vision was filled with golden fur and he knew everything would be okay. “...good girl….”

Mark settled into a comfortable half-doze and Chica conceded to a nap mere minutes after cuddling up with him on the bed. Her steady, even breathing and heartbeat played like soothing background music to his ears. He could feel both against his fingertips and the gentle lull made him smile faintly where his face was still burrowed into her chest. He was clueless as to how much time had passed when she gave a soft huff and lifted her head a bit. The motion roused Mark enough to catch a few footfalls; a knock on the door. He shook himself with much blinking from heavily lidded eyes. “Hunh? What?”

“Mark? You ready for your tea?”

Chica whined at the sound of Jack’s voice and Mark dislodged a tingly arm from her to adjust his glasses. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. Yeah, come in.” He wiggled and shifted until he could successfully toss his arms over Chica’s bulk, cheek plopping down onto her shoulder so he could watch Jack enter the bedroom. Mark reached for the tea with grabby hands in the universal gesture of “gimme gimme gimme”.

Jack smiled. “Hey there. Feeling better?” He sat on the edge of the bed, passing off Mark’s mug over Chica without letting the dog stick her nose in it. “Tom’s sorry.” Jack stayed seated, lifting his mug for a little sip, watching Mark. “You two are gonna have to talk again. Maybe not behind closed doors this time. He told me a little bit about what happened.”

Mark nodded and eagerly accepted the steaming mug. He adjusted his position again so his chin was resting on Chica instead, allowing him blow gently on the surface of the piping hot tea. Chica, to her credit, was sniffing rather avidly in their direction but made no move to start squirming or get up. Mark didn’t respond verbally to Jack until he’d taken a few sips of his own. Any nerves still out of place or tensions lingering in his body were resolved with a soothed throat and a soft sigh. “...we were both stupid. He’s probably killing himself over it.” Mark stared down into the murky brown. “We’ll talk. I know we have to. I’m not gonna leave him to his own devices like that, I just… needed some time.”

“I talked to him a bit,” Jack said. “The two of you are so alike in your idiocy and self-flagellation.” He sighed dramatically into his tea, but he gave Mark a little smile over the rim of his mug. “Guess that’s why I like him already.”

Mark secretly returned the smile; his was hiding behind ceramic. “That’s brothers for you. I learned from the best. I’m… glad you like him, though. Even after what happened.” Jack already had a slightly strained relationship with his moms due to Mark being “held hostage” in Ireland. He couldn’t stand it if tensions started up between Jack and his brother too. Without their father around, Tom was the makeshift replacement and his opinion mattered just as much.

“You’ll have to meet my brothers someday. Just to make it fair.” Jack sipped at his tea, taking a deep breath. “Want me to stay here, or do you still want to be alone?”

Jack reached out to scratch Chica behind the ears again when she looked back at him. “I suppose if Chica’s joining us in our bed, she’d be a more effective wall than the pillows. I’d probably cling to her, since she’s soft and warm.”

Eyes several shades deeper and sweeter than the tea flicked back up to Jack’s face. Mark was cradling his mug close enough that his voice reverberated a little off the ceramic. “You can stay.” He wiggled to nestle deeper into the mound of gold fur that was Chica’s body and she gave another huff in response, the quietest of woofs, resting her head back against a pillow. “I needed Chica here like this, right now. But she’s not gonna have to sleep with us. She can go in her crate, like she’s supposed to.” The words came to Mark with a surprising ease, like they should have been obvious all along, that there never should have been a shadow of a doubt. Mark tilted his head to rest a cheek against the curve of his own shoulder. “You seem to be enough to keep the nightmares away. And you won’t lick my face off at six in the morning.” It was a roundabout manner of speaking, but basically Mark was saying he preferred Jack’s company. (In bed, at least.)

Jack toed off his shoes and shifted onto the bed properly, leaning up against the pillows on the side that was nominally _his_. He closed his eyes to take another sip. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “What set you off?”

Mark relaxed further once Jack was settled in the bed with them and Chica paid their new companion no mind besides a brief wag of her tail. She was probably getting restless, but she was a good dog; she wouldn’t move until Mark was ready. He rewarded her with a few slow, steady strokes along her side while his free hand kept a tight grip on the handle of his mug. Eyes lidded from the serenity of the moment, Mark allowed his vision to unfocus. His gaze was aimed off at nothing in particular. In the quiet of the room, his voice still sounded too loud. “...if you get mad at Tom, I want you to take care of it here.”

Mark looked to Jack- or more accurately, looked _through_ him. Chica gave another huff. “I want to talk to you, but I don’t want you to go after him. He didn’t mean any of it. I know you say you’re okay with him now but you don’t know everything that happened yet. I don’t want one mistake to start something between you two. Not because of me.” His tone, though soft, was serious. If Jack couldn’t promise Mark he’d leave the emotions in the bedroom then he wouldn’t divulge the things Tom had said in his own emotional outburst, and they both knew it would be healthier for Mark to vent.

“I know what he called you, and I know he didn’t stop when you asked him to. Honestly, I think that last one is probably one of the worst offenses he could possibly have done, so...if you agree with me, then I won’t go after him. I’ve already smacked him verbally for that one.” Jack turned his head to look solemnly at Mark. “ _Did_ he do something worse?”

Mark’s gaze dropped back to his tea once more. Of course Tom had clued Jack in on some of what had happened. Jack needed to know so he could try to fix it and Tom was probably feeling too guilty to not apologize. It was relieving and embarrassing all at once, except Jack left one of the key triggering points out. The one that had resulted in setting off Mark’s panic attack. Either Tom hadn’t bothered to mention it, knowing he’d exposed Jack, or he didn’t have the chance before Jack brought Mark his tea. He wasn’t sure if he could call it worse than anything else Tom had done, but it was still important and by bringing it up, Mark could confront Jack about something else that was bothering him.

When he spoke, it was as quiet as ever. His eyes never trailed from his tea; never glanced back up to Jack. It was easier not to watch the other’s reaction. “You’re right. He should’ve listened when I asked him to stop. We could have avoided all of this, but I’m not holding it against him. It was a mistake. He knows he was wrong, and he’s going to try doing better next time. That’s what matters.” Mark was still shaken from, for once, not being listened to. For not having his expressed desires acknowledged. It was true he needed those moments to start coming back into his life, but not in a situation where he was clearly working to avoid a panic attack.

Silently, he brought his free hand around to thumb at the collar still exposed around his neck. His own expression dipped into something a little more solemn. “...I’m not saying it’s worse. But he pointed out the collar. _Before_ I told him about it. Before I could consider showing him… he knew. And he called me out about it, because he was trying to prove his argument. And… and that’s what set me off, Jack. The shock of him knowing and using it against me _exactly_ the way I knew other people would. I don’t want to accuse you of anything, Jack. I know if… if you told him, it was because you were just looking out for me. He probably pressured you. I _understand._ But… but he still knew. And I didn’t tell him.”

Jack sighed. He dug in his pocket, pulling out Chica’s collar, the replacement Tyler had bought her. It was black and had paw prints on it. “I took this off Chica before I crated her,” he said, offering it Mark. “I...I was hoping with her here, and needing a collar, you’d be able to...give it back. He saw, and he asked me about it. I didn’t want to lie to him. I figured it would be worse if he found out accidentally, or brought it up not knowing...but I _told_ him it kept you grounded. I didn’t ask him to try to turn you against it.” Jack turned quickly to Mark.

Chica, who’d been dozing, perked back up at the sound of her name. She recognized the collar Mark was accepting from Jack and whined curiously. She wasn’t used to not having a collar and figured it was time to put one back on, but it must have been confusing seeing as Mark was clearly wearing her old one. She huffed and twisted to sniff in Mark’s direction and her actions gave him pause. Mark looked between the collar he was feeling out with his fingers and Chica several times; acknowledged the weight and pressure of the other one still around his neck. His expression was pensive.

Jack continued, “If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. I mean, you know I hate it, but I also understand. And if you’re really not ready, then Chica can wear this collar. She does need _something_ , at least before we take her on a walk, but it doesn’t have to be the pink one. I’ll...I can talk to Tom again, if you’d like. Remind him that it’s not a topic he’s allowed to have a say in.”

“...I noticed she didn’t have her collar, but… I don’t know. I didn’t think about it much. I was too busy being happy.” Another pause, and Mark set the new collar down on the bed. Chica’s head tilted. “...I thought about it. Before I came to the bedroom. About giving her collar back. But… but I cou… I didn’t want to.” Mark could have done it. He _could._ He just didn’t. There was no use pretending otherwise. His hand returned to the pink collar so he could rub the tag between his fingers. “I know you hate it. Tom hates it. _Everyone_ would hate it. I don’t blame you for trying to give me an opportunity. And I’m not surprised Tom called you out on it. I _still_ wish I’d been the one to tell him, if I did at all, but… I can’t be mad at you. You were only trying to help- _both_ of you.” Tom brought up the collar because he was trying to give Mark a wake up call. He couldn’t understand just how deeply attached Mark was to it, no matter _what_ Jack had told him. Seeing and hearing were two very different things.

“I don’t think you’ll need to remind him. I think what he saw was enough. I think he gets it now. I just wish it would’ve happened in a better way….” Mark gripped at the collar and closed his eyes. Chica, bewildered but mostly ignored, had laid her head back down. “...I’m scared. I’m scared of giving Chica her collar back, and not having that lifeline anymore. It’s practically an extension of my body, Jack. I feel _naked_ without it. I start getting irritated and itchy and I don’t know if Chica being here, if her actual presence, will be enough.”

“Chica Junior wore the collar when Maggie was here, and you did okay,” Jack pointed out quietly. “If Chica’s wearing it...she stays close to you anyway. It’ll still be _there_ if you need to reach out for it...and it’s not like you can’t take it back if you can’t handle it. We have an extra. Even if it’s just...just in small increments, like an hour a day, or at night, or just when she goes on a walk...it’ll probably confuse the hell out of her, but she’ll get over it. And it could help you too. But don’t...don’t feel like I’m forcing you. Like I said, if you’re not ready, _you’re not ready_. It’s your choice. I wouldn’t dream of making it for you.”

Jack huffed a little. “Nah, that’s a lie. I’d absolutely dream of making it for you. But it’s not my choice to make, so I’d never actually do it. I will only offer you an opportunity and my support, whichever way you choose.”

All of Jack’s points were valid. Mark couldn’t even _begin_ trying to deny any of them, yet at the same time, Jack left Mark’s options open. It was important, and he was incredibly grateful for that one small consideration. It was precisely why he trusted Jack more than anyone at the moment; why he held his opinion above all others and tried to seriously listen to him during times like this. Jack had only ever actively sought to support Mark in all his endeavors, whether he liked them or not. He didn’t have to do that. No one was making him be so considerate. For so long, Mark didn’t have a choice. Now he did, even when chances were likely he’d make the wrong one.

It meant _everything_ to him. “...tonight.” He anxiously licked his lips and glanced up at Jack from across the bed. “I’ll try… tonight. Before bed. I’ll give her the collar back, and try getting through the night. It’ll be easier if I’m sleeping. If my mind isn’t constantly wandering back to it. If it’s a problem… then I’ll take it back. But I want to try. I _want_ to get better, Jack. I do. Getting better is just… hard, sometimes. _Really_ hard.” Maybe, with Jack’s arms tucked around him, he wouldn’t notice the collar’s absence. It was a chance he was willing to take. Tom’s words, while over the line and poorly chosen, were something Mark needed to hear. With Jack, it was too easy to become complacent with his own issues.

“Baby steps,” Jack said, reaching over with one hand to pat Chica’s side. “Healing always comes slowly and painfully. But letting her have the collar back tonight is a good first step. And she’ll probably appreciate that. One of your pillows is still in her crate, but I’m sure that collar smells a lot like you too. She’ll probably be very confused with the new location and everything. Having your scent around her might help her feel more grounded here, and less worried about losing you again.”

Jack turned a small smile to Mark, still stroking his fingers through golden fur. “And if you need to get it back in the middle of the night… well, you know where it’ll be.”

Mark scoffed at that, but he was amused. “Yeah. Baby steps….” He watched Chica respond eagerly to Jack’s hand with a small smile. She wasted no time in twisting around again so she could coat the poor appendage with her doggy spit. The thought of the collar possibly helping her did wonders for Mark and it became a little easier to dispel his anxiety if it meant aiding someone he cared about. “My poor Chica-bica, so lost without her daddy. It’s okay Chica. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here now.” His voice was tender and soothing as he pushed himself up with a slight wince.

Note to self: that was a terrible position to lay in for any prolonged period of time. His ribs were _killing_ him. Rubbing gingerly at his abdomen, Mark sat back on his knees beside Chica. She immediately rolled over onto her stomach but continued to watch him with a little, excited yip. He sighed. “Okay, let’s at least get this collar back on you. You’ve been a really good girl about it, Chica. Good little pupperschnupp. Who’s daddy’s wittle pupper, huh? _You are._ Yes, you are!” Mark’s tone became babying in the way one’s always did when addressing animals or young children. Chica’s response was instantaneous.

She gave a loud, happy bark and started viciously thumping her tail against the bed. Mark beamed at her in that way of his, where it primarily shone from his eyes, and set his nearly empty mug on the bedside table. “Who’s my good girl? Who’s my good girl, Chica?” Another bark; Mark had her full attention now. He picked up the new (admittedly _adorable,_ god damn it Tyler) collar and reached to secure it around Chica’s fluffy neck. She didn’t kick up a fuss as he checked the tightness, just affectionately licked at his wrist and nudged his fingers with her head until he conceded to giving her scratches. “Spoiled little pup.”

Jack wiped his hand off on Chica’s fur once her attention was back on Mark before closing it around his mug again and finishing his tea. “She’s got a good daddy,” Jack said. “The best a pup could hope for. Lucky girl.”

Then Jack sat up as well, nodding toward Mark’s mug. “Done with that? I was just about finished with Tim, but I did kinda leave him out. Since I’m going to the kitchen anyway, I’ll actually take the mugs this time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am, uh… just… give me a bit longer, okay? I’ll be out soon. Promise. You can tell Tom that too. I know he’s probably out there worried sick about me….” Tom wouldn’t be able to rest easy until he saw Mark’s condition with his own two eyes. However, Mark wasn’t ready to confront him just yet. After passing Jack the mug, he snuggled back down with Chica on the bed. He could tell she was growing restless but he planned to milk her fluffy warmth for as long as he could. He watched Jack get up over the wall of golden fur. “And… thanks. For helping me come back again, and for not going off on Tom….” Technically, Jack _had,_ but it was the heat of the moment. Mark could forgive him for that.

“Anything you need,” Jack said, smiling warmly at him. “You know that. And Tom…” He sighed, but remained smiling. “He’s _your_ brother. Of course he’s gonna be an idiot. It’s not like I reacted perfectly the first dozen times I started triggering you anyway. I won’t go off on him, no matter how he fucks up. Promise. You get some rest.”

Much as Mark probably could have laid there on the bed with Chica forever, he knew he had to come out eventually. It took some time, but Chica’s growing restlessness finally coaxed him back onto feet that had long fallen asleep. He wiggled and kicked them as he headed out of the bedroom. Chica trailed happily after him until they reached the dining room, immediately breaking off to drink out of her bowl. He watched her for a few moments because Mark was still working to cement the fact she was alive and present in his mind. When she didn’t keel over or disappear during his blinks, he moved on to the living room. As he suspected, Jack and Tom were both there. Jack was curled up in the window seat on his laptop and the sight brought a soft smile to Mark’s lips. It was one of Jack’s favorite spots in the whole house and Mark enjoyed seeing him there, because at certain times throughout the day sunlight would pour over the Irishman in an almost mystical manner. It would shimmer off his green hair, make his blue eyes shine and Mark’s heart would swell every time. He had _at least_ three separate pictures of the phenomenon on his phone.

Tom was on his laptop too, but he was stretched out on the couch. Clearly still suffering from his jet lag and not paying whatever he was browsing through any particular mind. His expression instantly became more alert the moment Mark stepped into the room and he sat up. Brown eyes met matching brown only to break away half a second later. The awkward tension was palpable, but thankfully not alien. They were brothers. They’d had blowups and fights that spiraled beyond their control in the past. This one was just different because of how bad Mark’s reaction had been. A simple back-and-forth of apologies and sass coupled with a hug or hair ruffle wouldn’t make everything better. Mark couldn’t even _take_ the latter right now.

Quietly, Tom closed his laptop and moved it to the coffee table. He turned to sit properly on the couch and silently patted the cushion beside him. Mark internally sighed. That was Tom. Always the one to be the adult, always the one to take charge when it came to bitter pills and topics needing to be addressed. Tom glanced at Jack, then looked back to his lap. Mark glanced at Jack and dropped his gaze as well upon claiming the offered spot. Jack wasn’t leaving. Mark knew he wanted to supervise their conversation in case Tom started to royally fuck up again. Several excruciating moments passed where neither brother said a word. Tom stared into space and Mark anxiously twiddled his thumbs.

“I’m sorry-”

The words halted in a mash-up of exceedingly similar voices as both men began to apologize at the exact same time. Tom fumbled and looked at Mark as if he’d grown a second head. Mark, too, sputtered softly and turned away from his brother. Of course Tom would apologize right off the bat. He was probably still wracked with guilt. Mark rubbed nervously at the back of his neck.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Mark. Seriously. I’m the one that pushed way too far and triggered you. It was especially wrong of me to mention the…” Tom frowned minutely and gave a little nod. He didn’t have to say it. They both knew what he was referring to.

Mark just shook his head. He had the powerful urge to grip at said accessory for support, but he didn’t. “Tom, it was an accident. You didn’t know that name would trigger me. You didn’t know just how attached I was to this thing. You didn’t know I was… that sensitive, still. To being confronted. Because I hid all of that from you. From _everyone._ And it was selfish, and probably kind of stupid, and if I’d just _told you_ then none of this would have happened…” Tom wouldn’t have argued with him, or brought up the collar, or ever considered using _that name._

It was Tom’s turn to shake his head and he started to reach for Mark. He stopped himself halfway, hovered uncertainly, then dropped the hand back to the couch. “Maybe some of it was an accident. Like the name. But you can’t say I wouldn’t know calling you out was going to hurt you. Jack _told_ me not to mention the colla… the _collar,_ but I did anyway. Because I felt like you weren’t taking things seriously enough. And that was wrong. I shouldn’t assume _anything_ about you, especially now, and I shouldn’t act like my view is automatically right.”

Mark frowned when Tom didn’t follow through with touching him, but it was probably for the best. Quietly, one of his own hands stretched out to touch its fallen brother. He stared at their hands, observing how the differences had grown, instead of looking into his brother’s guilt-ridden face. “What’s this? The almighty, all-knowing Thomas Fischbach admitting that maybe he doesn’t know what’s best for his baby brother Marky? Never thought I’d see the day….” There was a tender affection to the teasing as Mark curled crooked fingers around Tom’s.

The older man’s breath hitched so softly in his chest it was almost inaudible even in the silence of the living room. He stared down at their hands, at the scars Mark would carry there forever. The muscles in Tom’s face inexplicably twitched as he hooked his thumb around Mark’s hand to return the squeeze. “There’s a first time for everything….”

Mark had known Tom long enough to recognize the facial twitches for what they really were. His own lips gave a brief quirk but a majority of the smile rested firmly in his eyes. He was finally looking at Tom, and his brother was staring right back. This time when their eyes met, they stayed. In some cheesy Lifetime movie this would probably be about the moment they shared a beautiful hug to seal the bonding moment, but life wasn’t like the movies and Mark wasn’t up for a hug. Tom gave scarred fingers another squeeze instead.

“It’s not the first time you fucked up, Tom. It won’t be the last. I do it too, and Jack, and everyone. Shit happens. It does.” Mark was doing his damned best to keep his voice steady. He may have recovered, but he was still feeling a little too emotional. The close moment he was sharing with Tom after months of separation didn’t help. “And I’ve forgiven Jack, every time. I’m gonna forgive you too. Because I know it’s not on purpose. And you’d take it back if you could. But you can’t, so I’m telling you it’ll be okay. _I forgive you._ Because I love you, and it’ll take more than a few stupid words to get rid of me. Stuck with me for life, bro.”

“Oh god, someone save me.” Tom drawled dramatically, but he was smiling at Mark. “You’re too generous for your own good, Mark. Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you know what I mean.”

Luckily, Mark understood. “I’m okay, Tom. I am. Maybe a little shaken up still but it’s fine. I’m letting you touch me, so… that’s usually a big indicator I’m over it.” He glanced down at their joined hands again and brightened up a bit when Tom’s thumb rubbed little circles into his skin. He thought for a moment, then hesitantly licked his lips. “Y’know… there is a spot I always like to go to, after I’ve had a big attack. To settle my nerves. It’s out in the garden; want me to show you? I could… show you the rest, too. We could bring Chica, and she can run around some more. There was all this hemlock when we first moved in but I ripped it out so the yard should be safe for her now. If you get close enough to the fence, you can even hear the river…”

Chica, having heard her name, came padding into the living room with lolling tongue and wagging tail. “Sure. Yeah, okay. We can do that.” Tom watched Mark, then turned to look back at Jack. “You coming with us?”

Jack glanced over at them. “I can stay in here,” he said. “Unless you want me to join you.”

Tom paused for a moment, then Mark leaned in a few inches to whisper in a way that _definitely_ wasn’t whispering at all. “If he comes with us he won’t let us fistfight the badgers, Tom.” The elder Fischbach would have absolutely _no_ idea what that meant but he ended up laughing anyway. It was just too ridiculous of a statement when coupled with Mark’s delivery. His laugh, while a steady “huhuhuhu” like Mark’s, was a higher pitch and far less hilarious to listen to.

Except it was like a chain reaction, because Tom laughing set Mark to laughing, even if it was a weak one. Together, it was one of the funniest sounds imaginable and Chica gave off a bark or two in her usual dog bewilderment as the brothers hunched closer together on the couch. They were laughing the tension away like a couple of idiots without even remembering why, but it had something to do with badgers and it felt really, really nice.

“Watch it, Fischbach,” Jack warned, holding up a finger as he turned back to his laptop with a grin of his own. “Or else _we are getting a goat._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _aga_ = baby  
>  _keun_ = big  
>  _namdongsaeng_ = little brother  
>  _goyohan_ = calm  
>  _gi gi_ = kiss kiss (This is a childish bastardization of some Korean Tom and Mark used as kids. Think silly kid language.)  
>  _aesaekki/'saekki_ = brat (Tom has a habit of cutting off the first syllable.)
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	62. 6/27: Ownership Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark takes something a little bigger than a baby step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad everyone's enjoyed my portrayal of Tom so far! Thank you for the feedback! There's a little more Korean in this chapter, but still nothing crazy, and only in the beginning. Again, you can hover over the words to see the translation, or if you're on mobile they'll be posted in the end notes.
> 
> (As for the Irish, well... I'd suggest checking out Gold. ;3)

Mark went into the garden and Jack had to drag the hoover out for the _third_ time that day. “Just for that, Mark, _I_ pick the toppings tonight. And it’s gonna have corn!”

Despite Tom’s request for anchovies (and Mark’s silent begging _not_ to ask Tom for his opinion), they ended up with a boring extra pepperoni and a full house with three types of meats, two types of peppers, corn, and pineapple. Combined with garlic bread and soda, dinner was an absolute disaster on the healthy food side. It was also _delicious_.

Jack dragged out a third controller for some Overwatch, and Tom joined them in their usual evening games until he was practically falling asleep on his side of the couch. Jack nudged Mark after the last game ended and then reached over to nudge Tom. “Hey. You done good. Your jet lag shouldn’t be too bad if you want to go to sleep now.”

“Ohhhh thank god, I think I was starting to see double the Junkrats on your screen. Or maybe Mark just switched over without saying anything.” Half of Tom’s words were warped beyond understanding by a yawn. The controller had been practically falling out of his hands when Jack finally nudged him. He scrubbed at the heavy bags under his brown eyes with a hand as he set it aside. “Bed sounds amazing. You two should go too. Big day tomorrow and all that.” Tom stood and stretched.

Mark, sated with pizza and video games, had managed to get over any lingering aftershocks from his breakdown. He was ruffling along Chica’s back with his free hand as Tom got up; she’d been lying at his feet with one of the squeaky toys for a while now. “Yeah. Just be prepared to put on all kinds of makeup and costumes, Tom! And for copious amounts of camera time. You’re not getting out of this one.” He beamed at his brother with eyes alone and Tom sent him a tired “big brother” look in response.

_ “Aesaekki.” _

_ “Salanghae.” _

Tom gave a little “tch” at the counter Mark delivered, then muttered the same and Mark’s smile managed to trickle down into his mouth. The elder Fischbach headed out of the room. “I call bathroom first. You guys can clean up when I’m done. Good night.”

“I did get makeup remover, don’t worry. Nothing should be _permanent_.” Jack grinned up at Tom as well. “Sleep well, Tom. If you need anything during the night, feel free to help yourself, or kick one of us awake if you can’t find it.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that ‘kick us awake’ comment.” Tom tossed over his shoulder as he left.

Mark stuck out his tongue at the retreating back. “Good night!” Setting his controller aside too, he stretched in his seat with a soft sound of contentment. 

Jack flipped Tom a rude gesture with two fingers as the older man left, but he was laughing. “Chica need to go out before bed?” he asked, glancing over at Mark and his dog.

Chica lifted her head from her paws with ears perked and Mark hummed. “Yeah, I should take her out.” He got to his feet with the usual pop of joints that came with sitting for way too long. Chica bounded up to join him with an eager bark and he smiled down at her affectionately before glancing to Jack. “You wanna come with us? It’s cloudy tonight, but you can still hear the river….”

“You know, my schedule’s been so much more normal human being since you came here,” Jack remarked as he got to his feet. “I used to stay up till four, five am. Now I’m usually in bed before the day is technically over. Lead the way, Chica and Chica’s daddy.”

“Well then, glad I could regulate your irresponsible butt. You’re welcome.” Mark shot Jack a teasing look as he headed for the back door. Chica was able to associate it with the backyard now and she reached it well before either man. She yipped and went up on her hind legs to press her front paws against the wood; tail wagging a mile a minute. Mark chuckled almost inaudibly and gave her a pat on the side before letting her out. Instantly, the retriever bounded out into the darkness, triggering the floodlight on the back of the house. The garden was illuminated to showcase Chica running wide circles around its perimeter and Mark watched her with a content expression as he breathed in the cool night air. 

“My irresponsible butt was largely your fault in the first place,” Jack pointed out, leaning back against the house as he watched Chica run as if she’d known this yard her entire life. “On an L.A. schedule, I was in bed by ten at the latest most nights.”

“Well, you’re welcome for that too.” Mark was being cheeky, but it was a good thing. Cheeky, sassy, _teasing_ Mark meant he was comfortable and secure in his surroundings. It was a glimpse into how he’d been _all the time_ before getting kidnapped. “...I really love it here.”

“I complain about Ireland a lot, but if I really hated it, I wouldn’t have stayed. L.A. would’ve been so much more tempting. It’s got its perks to make up for the lack of Lucky Charms.”

Mark watched Chica sniff around for a good spot to relieve herself while he listened to Jack’s musings on his home country. When the Irishman was done, Mark turned the barest hint of a smile his way. There was nothing particularly stunning or breathtaking about their surroundings on this cloudy night, but being surrounded by lush greenery, the ivy covered wall of the cottage and all the chirps of nature in the late evening provided an almost magical kind of setting. It was so much different from L.A. even on its most peaceful of nights and Mark was going to miss it.

He was going to miss _Jack_ even more. “I guess you’re right. Though I still think it’s a travesty you don’t have them here. I’ll just have to bring a surplus whenever I visit.” Would the airport even let him tote so much cereal merchandise into a foreign country? Mark was willing to give it a try. “If it wasn’t so complicated, I might try to move here. But doing that would be even more counterproductive for my channel….” Mark knew the lengths Jack had to go to just to keep up with the normal American community and unlike Jack, if he lived in Ireland everyone else he knew and loved would be an entire ocean away. It just wasn’t worth it. Not even for the environment and Jack’s company. He didn’t care about popularity, but it would be almost impossible to keep up with his already uncontrollable fan base out here.

“Oh? You’re actually gonna come back once you get out of here?” Jack sounded surprised as he looked over at Mark fully. “A year ago, you made anyone who wanted to hang out with you come to _you_ , unless they lived in Cincinnati. Is Markiplier actually going to get off his lazy butt for once?”

Jack shook his head, smiling crookedly at Mark. “You know you’re always welcome to come visit, or if… if things get too overwhelming. Ireland’ll always be here.”

Mark scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest as it puffed out with dramatized indignation, but there was a smile playing at his lips as he went on the defense. “Maybe. Sometimes. If I feel like it.” He sent Jack a sidelong glance as Chica began padding back towards them. “It wasn’t lazy. It was a _calculated decision._ L.A. has all the cool stuff to do and it was easier to keep up with productivity when I wasn’t running around the country. You know how bad my track record is with keeping a schedule. Going to visit everyone wherever they _happened_ to be living would have killed me.” Mark uncrossed his arms to give Chica’s head a good ruffle. “But! I suppose I can make an exception for you. If only to take a little vacation when things get too hairy over there. I’ll take it into serious consideration.” He gave a “serious” nod to emphasize his words and Chica even barked, as if sensing her master needed further validation. Mark beamed.

“Sometimes I wonder why you even bother saying you have a schedule,” Jack said, shaking his head. “But then I remember how bad you are with one, and can only imagine how much worse you’d be without.”

“For appearances, duh! If I say I’ve got one and then don’t stick to it at least it shows I _tried._ Instead of just doing whatever. It makes me feel better about myself.” Mark was half-joking, but there was truth in his words. He _tried_ to have a schedule, really he did. He knew it was important for his channel but he was such a free spirit filled with _so many_ stupid ideas it was difficult to remember he had schedule responsibilities at all. Freedom was one of the reasons he loved doing YouTube so much in the first place. Still, Mark _did_ envy Jack for his organizational skills in terms of his channel. It was a little ironic how Mark had been on YouTube longer but still couldn’t get a handle on his shit.

Jack rolled his eyes, then frowned thoughtfully at Chica. “...how do you feel about filming your baby girl?” He peeled himself off the wall as they turned to go back inside. “You could make more Chica videos while you’re here. Your fans _love_ that shit.”

Mark pulled the door open and let Chica into the house before going inside himself. This time, he was careful to take off his shoes _before_ he could track dirt on the floor- again. It was way too late for Jack to vacuum. “Chica videos? What, you mean like… like Boat Dog and stuff?” Mark paused by the door to look at Jack in slight surprise and Chica left the boys to go get some water. “I… guess I could do that. I love filming Chica. She’s adorable, and awesome, no matter what kind of shit I put her through. Best dog, most patience.” He smirked at his own meme reference. “It would be easier on me than making personal vlogs too…. You could even help. You could guest star.” Both their communities would _flip._

“What, _me_? Guest star alongside the one and only _Chica Fischbach_?” Jack gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Why mercy me, I’d never be good enough for that why the fuck did I suddenly become a southern belle there?” Jack frowned bewilderedly at Mark, then shrugged it off with a laugh. “I dunno, adding humans into the various dog skits kinda ruins the theme, don’t you think? But I’d be happy to help out however I can. We can do Irish dog, or Doctor dog… I’ve got a cat mask and a wooden sword…”

The slip in accent actually coaxed a brief laugh out of Mark, then he was thinking of Jack dressed up like a southern belle complete with frilly dress, bonnet and parasol. That set him to laughing more and he had to cover his mouth with his hands in case Tom was already in bed. He shook his head to notify Jack he needed a minute before he could even think of responding.

When he’d finally gotten over the mental image, Mark drew several deep breaths and then grinned; it was impossible not to. “You don’t have to be _in_ the shot. You can be like me. A background prop. Your accent would be _great_ for some audio.” His expression turned a bit sly. “I mean the Southern one, not the Irish. Damsel Dog. That’s gonna be a thing now. No take-backsies.”

“But Chica _clearly_ has your hands,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I guess though, if you _really_ want to give her my voice, I could be a damsel. For her.”

“You’re gonna be _the best_ damsel. And I’ll give the video a twist ending. Nobody puts Chica in a corner.” Mark paused, considering his words. “Except me. When she poops on the floor. Damn, we’ll have to ask Tyler to ship the Fedora of Shame over. Punishment just isn’t as effective without it.” Plus it was adorable on her. Chica loved the hat and most likely missed what it was supposed to symbolize entirely but Mark didn’t mind.

“Chica is _your_ dog. That means if she shits on the floor, _you’re_ cleaning it up. Same if she eats the walls. _You’re_ fixing them. Speaking of Chica, is she gonna join us tonight?” Jack asked. “Or does she get the crate?”

Bed was still on the horizon and decisions needed to be made; choices Mark had _subtly_ been putting off. Jack wasn’t having it and Mark looked from where Chica sat contently waiting for them next to her crate with a soft sigh. “She’s going in her crate. It was good to have her earlier, when I was panicking. But I’ll be okay now. She should stay in there tonight so she doesn’t get used to being in a bed with me. Us.” Besides, trying to fit Chica on Jack’s bed with both of them sounded like a terrible venture and a half. Gently, he called the dog and led her to the crate; Jack giving her ears a ruffle as she passed. She slipped inside without much coaxing and immediately laid down on the items Jack had left for her earlier. Mark crouched at the crate door and smiled at her. “Good girl, Chica. We’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Mark remained crouched in front of the crate for far longer than necessary and even Chica was noticing the abnormality, lifting her head from her paws and tilting it in his direction. He smiled at her again. “It’s okay, Chica. I’m okay. Just… thinking. Daddy’s thinking.” He sighed. Silently, Mark reached inside to scratch Chica under the jaw. He let his hand trail naturally down her neck until it met the material of her new collar and he let his body tilt backwards until he could plop fully onto the floor before his leg muscles seized up. Chica whined at him in her persistent confusion. “Shhh….”

He let his thumb stroke at the new collar and brought his other hand up to feel at his own neck. Mark’s fingers located the old collar in a heartbeat and he frowned as he stared at Chica, but didn’t really keep _seeing_ her. His eyes unfocused as he sunk into his thoughts. The collars felt the same. He knew they looked different; knew every detail of his own by heart. He compared the tags: one in his palm, one in his mind. Both said “Chica”. Both had her information on them. Both of them were _technically_ ** _hers._** Humans didn’t need collars to identify themselves; humans could _speak_ for that. Humans had I.D.’s and social security cards and driver’s licenses. They could give a stranger their name and address and phone number if they got lost.

Dogs couldn’t. That’s why dogs wore collars with tags. That’s why he’d gotten Chica the adorable pink collar. She _loved_ this collar and was probably so lost after it was taken from her. Confused beyond reason about why Mark had it, but hadn’t _given it to her_ ; why he was wearing it instead. Mark’s heart ached. “I’m sorry.” It was low and quiet, past a whisper but more than loud enough for Chica’s sensitive doggy ears to pick up and she whined again. “I’m sorry they took your collar. I’m sorry you were left all alone. That I wasn’t there for you. That I _haven’t_ been there for you. I’m sorry, Chica, daddy’s _so sorry._ I love you, baby girl.” He scratched behind her ears in an effort to comfort her and sighed again.

“...this is yours. Don’t… don’t get mad if I end up taking it back, okay? That’s what this other collar is for. But tonight, I’ll let you have mi- _this one._ I’ll let you have this one, because it’s _yours._ ” Removing Chica’s collar was easy. She gave a little shake once it was off but otherwise made no complaints and he left it on top of her crate. Removing his- no, _no,_ it was _Chica’s too-_ collar was harder. He knew where the clasp was; could undo it in seconds, but he hesitated. He traced the tag and collar with his fingers several times before forcing them to linger at the buckle. He could do this. He _had_ to try doing this. He didn’t want to be their dog anymore.

Mark drew a short, tight breath as if preparing to be struck (emotionally, he kind of was). The metal buckle gave a soft click as it was released and cool air hit his newly exposed neck, making him shiver. Chica, spying her old collar, showed renewed interest in her master’s odd behavior. She leaned forward to sniff at it and the action soothed Mark a little. It gave him more of an iron resolve to _fix this._ “Yeah, pupperschnupp, that’s yours. That’s your collar. C’mere, let’s get it back on you… where it belongs.” Sliding the collar around Chica’s neck felt natural in a way putting the collar on himself didn’t. It called back to days before he’d been reduced to an animal for the world to see, when Chica was the only dog-related thing he _ever_ had to worry about. She gave another shake coupled with a soft “borf” and Mark’s heart swelled. “There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?” 

Mark petted Chica for a little longer just to settle his nerves. She let him do whatever he wanted and licked at his hand when he finally pulled away. “Good night kisses to you too, Chica-bica. Be a good girl and don’t act up now, okay? Daddy’s gonna be here. Promise. I’ll see you in the morning.” Quietly, he shut the crate door and pushed himself back onto his feet. He still felt exposed as the air rushed around his bare neck. However, Mark glanced back down to Chica resting content in her crate, and he mentally buckled down. He could do this. He could give it a try for one night at least. It was just a collar.

Turning towards the doorway, he finally noticed Jack’s presence and immediately went a bit pink. How long had he been watching? How much mushy baby talk had he heard? Mark didn’t know why he was so embarrassed. Maybe because it was such a tender, personal, _private_ moment for his psyche. Mark rubbed at his neck where the collar should- no, not should, _would-_ be and glanced away nervously. “I. Uh. I’m good now. For bed. We can go; Chica’s all set.”

“Kitchen’s all set too.” Jack lifted his hand, offering it to Mark to hold. “Let’s go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, birthday boy.” He was smiling.

Mark felt relief when Jack didn’t address anything that had just happened- but of course he wouldn’t. Jack knew Mark so well now; knew the best ways to handle all his quirks and anxieties. Anything Jack hadn’t figured out for himself, his therapist had filled in. Mark was incredibly grateful for that level of patience and understanding. His argument with Tom had given him a newfound appreciation for it. Mark remembered how such knowledge and treatment weren’t the norm by any extent and it was a rude wakeup call.

However, now it was Jack dealing with him. He smiled and took the offered hand; gave it a squeeze in thanks for the physical support. It was amazing, how easily and quickly Jack could settle his rattled nerves. Just seeing that bright, affectionate smile helped to put his strained mind at ease. “Let’s go catch those z’s, then. I get the feeling we’re really gonna need them.” Their shitty plans were extensive and exhausting. Tom was going to want to kill Mark when all was said and done but if it was successful, it would be an _amazing_ comeback.

Jack squeezed Mark’s hand back and led him to the bedroom, turning off lights as they went. “God, just imagine Tom’s face tomorrow when I come at him with pink lipstick…”

Getting ready for bed was mostly a blur. Mark had tried to speed through it all while focusing on the actions over his reflection in the mirror because every time he happened to glance his bare neck, a sensation of _wrongness_ would wash over him; making his skin crawl. He went so far as to brush his teeth facing _away_ from the mirror. By the time he’d wrapped up and returned to the bedroom, Mark was all too happy to be distracted by Jack’s adorable giggling.

Jack, sitting on their bed, flipped his phone around so Mark could read the Tweet he’d just posted: _‘The birthday boy has NO IDEA what we have in store for him tomorrow!’_ His own face lit up a bit as he read it off and looked over the selfie Jack had attached. The Irishman was hosting a laughably evil smirk. “You’re terrible.” Now the fans would need to wait _at least_ a day to be given the juicy goods. Jack was completely devious.

Yet Mark would have done the same thing. Secretly, he was just a little proud. The positive energy was exactly what he needed to settle down again after being alone in the bathroom. While Jack went to get himself ready, Mark hunkered down beneath the covers. He tried to immediately roll onto his side and doze off, but he couldn’t ditch the feeling something was missing. He figured it was the collar (in reality, it may very well have been Jack). Huffing with irritation and slight disgruntlement at how much his body missed the stupid thing, Mark slipped his phone out instead. He replied to Jack’s tweet with a ‘ _Hey stupid, I got Twitter too! You aren’t gonna surprise me!’_ and hesitated with his thumb hovering over the image option.

Biting at his lip, he tapped it and scrolled through his photo album instead of taking a new picture like Jack had done. He found a suitably “stern” looking selfie (because he just had _so damn many_ ) and attached it for the response; perfect. Now Jack just had to come to bed, and Mark could go to sleep. Only because he needed the distraction and not for any other reason at all. Nope.

Jack returned to the bedroom and was about to toss his dirty clothes in the general direction of his hamper when he hesitated. Instead, Jack actually crossed the room and put the clothes inside the hamper. “Shut up,” he grumbled to Mark before Mark could even say anything. “We have a visitor.”

Mark was befuddled by Jack’s behavior with the clothes, but he understood when the “visitor” was mentioned. Jack was still worried about Tom’s judgment and Mark supposed he couldn’t blame him after what had happened earlier. He doubted his brother would be anal enough to start something over haphazardly strewn clothes, but he _was_ already touchy about them sharing a bedroom. Maybe Jack’s caution was warranted. He didn’t say anything.

Jack flipped the lights off and climbed into his side of the bed. “You okay? You’ve had a crazy day.”

Mark knew the answer immediately: No, he wasn’t okay, he was uncomfortable and severely missing something he shouldn’t. He didn’t care what psychological reasoning there was behind it. Jack wouldn’t believe a lie, though, so Mark shrugged. Maybe shook his head a little. He found himself scooting an inch or two closer to his bedmate for some kind of substitute anchor. “I’m… I feel naked. Exposed. I feel like I’m missing something and I hate it. It’s not missing if it didn’t belong there to begin with, Jack, it’s cold.” His thought process splintered and made itself known in his words while Mark dug his fingers into the pillow beneath his head. They had nothing to cling onto.

“Even if it didn’t belong there, you’re used to it being there. Of course it’s gonna feel like it’s missing. Like the first time you wear shorts after winter.” Jack rolled onto his side to face Mark, giving him a minute before he shifted, lifting an arm beneath the duvet. “I’m proud of you. I’m sure Chica feels better for having her proper collar back. And I know you can get through this.”

Mark frowned at that comparison, brows pinching together. Like shorts after winter? Mark hadn’t experienced that since he lived in Ohio, what with L.A. always being so damn warm, but he remembered it. How his legs felt too exposed to the elements; sort of like his neck. The normalcy of it reassured him somewhat. It was as if he’d put on a pair of shorts. Or taken off his pants? Whatever, it worked.

Jack was offering him more than words, though. Mark recognized the gesture. He hesitated, gaze flitting back to the door; back towards the room Tom was sleeping in. Well, it should be fine. Tom wouldn’t just bust into the bedroom unannounced and it was incredibly likely they’d end up stuck together come morning anyway. Mark might as well take the solace where he could get it and right now, Jack’s arms were _extremely_ inviting. He wiggled quietly over until Jack’s arm could loop around him and sighed from his nose. “I want to get through this. I need to.”

“You will, Mark.” Jack hugged Mark loosely, letting his arm rest over Mark’s side more than he actually _held_ him. “Mark, you’ve pushed through so much worse than this. I know you can do this too. You are the strongest person I know, mentally, emotionally, and physically. I _know_ you can do this.”

“...I’m going to try.” Mark removed his glasses and reached awkwardly over Jack to set them on the bedside table. When his hand returned, he curled both in the little gap between their bodies and stared at Jack’s face that was now a blur. He could still recall the details though and found the little spots of dim blue that were his eyes. He let their feet touch beneath the blanket; knees bumping, but nothing else and shuddered out another exhale. “I can do this. I’m gonna do this.” Mark closed his eyes and focused on the sound of Jack’s breathing. He felt the gentle weight of a thin arm curled around his back and tried to relax. “...Jack. Could you… could you maybe sing something? In Irish? It doesn’t have to be long, I just… need a distraction.”

Jack hummed softly. “Seothó seothú ló. Seothó seothú ló. Seothú ló. Seothú ló. Mo ghaol, mo ghrá 'gus m'eadúil thú. Mo stoirín úr is m'fhéirín thú…”

Mark had never really considered _Irish_ as a language itself, until Jack. Even then, he mostly referred to it as a joke. It wasn’t until Jack was pushed to singing it for him in some desperate attempt to drag him back from the brink that Mark truly came to appreciate the language. It was still a bit funny when Jack would speak it, but when he sang it was a different story. Jack didn’t have a smooth or honeyed voice by any means- that was Mark’s department. Yet the way he so naturally formed the odd-sounding syllables and carried an ethereal tune was lovely all on its own and because it was _Jack’s voice,_ the voice Mark had come to latch onto during times of duress, it was even more effective.

He was _finally_ able to relax by the end of the first verse. Mark exhaled long and deep; settling beneath Jack’s arm like strings that had been holding his muscles taut were all cut at once by Jack’s words. He sank into the mattress with eyes closed and breathing even while his fists uncurled so his fingertips could brush Jack’s shirt. The melody lulled him to sleep though had no idea what the words meant. They were Jack’s. That was all that mattered.

Mark would sleep through the night- _without_ the collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _aesaekki_ = brat  
>  _salanghae_ = love you
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	63. 6/28: Surprise in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark wakes up to the unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little Korean in here again, half of which you've seen! But the translations are in the same spots as always. :D

_“Saengil chukhahae, namdongsaeng!”_

The raucous cheer in a tongue he rarely heard (at least, before Jack’s helpful inputs) roused Mark from his easy slumber. The smell of Korean pancakes got him moving even faster. He pushed dazedly away from Jack with a soft snort before scrubbing at his mouth.

"Maybe I should have brought a towel too. Geez, Mark, mind turning off your faucet?"

Mark’s cheeks went a bit pink from Tom’s teasing and he did his best to focus a light-hearted glare on the blurry figure standing by the bed. "Don't be jealous ‘cause I'm so hydrated... oh my god, that smell. You didn't." His initial, indignant huff morphed into a stunned whisper and he fumbled for his glasses.

"I did."

“Oh holy Jesus, and here I thought nothing was gonna top my breakfast tomorrow…!” Jack sat up when Mark pulled away. “Thomas, you are officially my favorite Fischbach. You made… _and_ coffee!? I love you!”

“Heeeey. What the heck, Tom? Come in here with your pancakes and steal away my best bro. On my birthday and everything. What happened to honor among brothers huh?” Mark pouted at them _both_ as he slipped on his glasses, though he couldn’t conceal the fact he was staring just as eagerly at the food laid out before them. His mouth was watering. “In any case, I loved him first, Jack. You’ll have to get in line.”

Tom chuckled, clearly amused by the whole thing. He passed them their respective mugs and claimed his own before plopping down on the bed, sipping his steaming tea with a soft hum. Mark and Jack’s mugs contained coffee. “Can’t help it if I’m a better cook than you, Mark. Should’ve paid more attention to mom’s lessons in the kitchen. No scallions? Really? She’d be _so disappointed._ ”

“We haven’t had a need for green onions! I don’t make that much Korean or Asian food. We order Chinese more often than not if we’re craving that stuff….” Still, Mark hung his head a bit dramatically; shamed. Tom clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“This is why your Irish friend loves me more than you, Mark. But I’ll accept the love from both of you equally. Think of this later, when you’re trying to shove me into an animatronic costume with pink lipstick.”

“Mark, if he had brought in anything other than _pajeon_ , you’d still be second favorite,” Jack assured Mark, patting his hand. “God, I haven’t had those in _ages_. Do _you_ know how to make them?” He looked over at Mark, then waved him off. “Doesn’t matter. Tom can give me the recipe.” He curled both his hands around his mug and took a deep breath of the aroma, his eyes sliding closed.

“Wow. Incredible. I am offend.” Mark deadpanned. He opened his mouth to answer the question, then let it fall shut with a fresh pout when he was cut-off and huffed again. “I _do_ know how to make’em, thanks. See if I ever make you any.” His tone was purposefully petulant while his cheeks remained a bit rosy. He was totally being tag-teamed here. _On his birthday!_ The indignities never ceased.

“Mm, Mark, you are also forgiven for sleeping in on top of me. Best not-my-birthday morning ever.”

“Well you were hardly shoving me off.” Mark fixed up his coffee with milk and sugar then proceeded to dramatically sulk as he sipped the beverage.

“Are you saying I should like you more than I like Chica?” Jack asked with a little shake of his head. “It’s like you don’t know your own dog…”

Now Mark was _really_ offended. Tom just snickered. “ _No!!_ I didn’t know you were including Chica! Of _course_ she takes precedence over basically everybody. Don’t patronize me.” He whined a bit but Tom just tossed a pillow at his head.

_“Aesaekki.”_

“Takes one to know one! _Babo!_ ”

“Wow Mark. Do you know _any_ Korean that’s _not_ childish insults?”

“Maybe!” The two brothers stared each other down, but it could easily be seen as sibling fun and games. It had been months since the pair were able to interact like this and they had a lot of catching up to do.

“Sleep well, Tom? Bed okay?” Jack questioned.

Tom just rolled his eyes at Mark’s typical behavior. “Yeah, it was fine. Sleep was a little off and on but I think that’s just the jet lag. Finally decided to get up earlier than I usually would on my home schedule. It’s cool. I’ll get used to it. Mark, don’t sulk, you’ll get that look stuck on your face permanently.” Mark stuck his tongue out at the older man in retaliation.

Jack's grin could be seen even behind the rim of his mug. “So, Tom’s already dressed. I’ll grab the next shower, then get him ready while you indulge. Don’t forget to wear your crown today, birthday boy.”

Mark took a little pleasure in how Tom’s face cringed at Jack “get him ready” comment and he snatched one of the pancakes. “I’m gonna be the prettiest darn birthday boy the Internet’s ever seen. Just you wait!”

“Please, by all means, take the limelight.”

Jack chuckled into his coffee, watching the brothers poke fun at each other. “That is kinda the point of today’s vlog, but we do need to be attractive enough to not look completely off beside the sheer gorgeous majesty that is Markiplier. And trust me, Tom, I did the shopping. He’s gonna be _beautiful_...even if we’re the ones stuck with the pink lipstick.”

Tom’s expression was akin to a certain meme involving a camera and an office. His tone was just about as bland as a human could get; Ben Stein would have been proud. “How deep did you say that river was again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _saengil chukhahae_ = happy birthday (informal)  
>  _namdongsaeng_ = little brother  
>  _aesaekki_ = brat  
>  _babo_ = stupid
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	64. 6/28: My Big Fat Goat-themed Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markiplier makes his biggest comeback ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more translations this chapter! Note I'll only be translating the Korean. :) The Irish is Fantismal's department, and as for the German, well... : )

As Jack suggested, Mark got in his shower first. Delicious food sat comfortably in his stomach and excitement for the day’s events was still buzzing in his veins. He almost sped through the process of washing, drying and dressing himself but felt he’d cleaned up quite nicely for the big day: neatly combed hair, snug jeans and his favorite lucky flannel that finally fit to some degree. Putting it on had felt like home in the very best of ways. Were it not for the scars, it could have been a year or two back before he started dying his hair. Back when he'd first met Jack.

Satisfied with his appearance, Mark left the bathroom to go find his “party guests”. He heard Tom’s voice coming from his old bedroom and swung into the doorway eagerly.

“Probably. I dunno, man. I don't wear the stuff. Just try not to scratch at it or anything-”

“Oh my god Tom what did you _do to Jack’s face?!_ ” Mark was a hilarious cross between astonished and giddy. Sitting there on the bed in his black cape and Markiplier tee was Jack, pink lipstick mashed into his mustache and drawn into curlicues over his cheeks. Tom looked the epitome of a guilty party. “How much lipstick did you even _use?_ ”

“Half the tube. The other half is for me.” Tom pulled a slight face. Mark just beamed.

Jack pooched his lips out as Mark laughed. “It's my Warfstache! Don't you like it? I think it's great, matches my shirt!”

“Haha I can see that. Nice outfit. Wonder where you got it.” Mark was putting on about as much grin as he could currently muster (which still was just a faint smile, but the full effect could be seen in his eyes). He hadn't seen Jack in that shirt in quite some time but it was perfect for today. If Mark didn't have his lucky flannel, he'd probably be wearing one too. Tom got a pass because they were putting him through enough as it was. (Besides, if they _both_ wore Markiplier shirts they'd just look like his fanboys or something. Yeesh.)

“Some goober on YouTube was selling them and I figured I'd toss a couple bucks his way, out of pity. It's all good. I've got Sam to confirm my identity.” Jack jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the fan-made cape.

“How generous of you. I'll have to look him up, as a fellow goober on YouTube. A YouTuber. YouGoober? I should trademark that.” It was somehow endearing to see Jack wearing both of their icons. It was a physical representation of how they'd become connected; not just as Internet celebrities, but as close friends as well- maybe even _more_ than that.

Jack grinned up at Mark, then coughed and popped to his feet. “Bathroom's clear, Tom! Time for your big scene, before I get my hands on _your_ face!”

“What's going on? You guys planned some big scene without me?” Mark was sure to make himself sound appropriately stunned and disappointed.

Tom rolled his eyes. “It's just a little something to further showcase my torment on this, the day of your birth. Don't worry about it. The vlog needed a good intro.” He grabbed the camera Jack had given him and headed for the bathroom. “You can wait outside the door or whatever you feel would be funnier. Just come in whenever while I'm busy talking to myself like a totally normal human being. The shock and terror value will be more real that way.”

“He needed a mirror,” Jack explained to Mark. “One of those horror, help me, I'm trapped in this weird place intros. We could also try a typical Markiplier intro too, if you want some options. I bet your community is just _dying_ for,” Jack flicked his hand in Mark's usual wave, dropping his voice into something close to Mark's usual register, “hello everybody, my name is Markiplier…”

“Oh, well, we could make you scaring the crap out of Tom the video intro and then do a quick one outside with all the party stuff for the ‘real intro’.” Mark used air quotes, but it was thrown off by the giggling Jack’s impression triggered. That _never_ got old. “Aren't you glad my voice can sound that smooth again? Thought it would never recover from the pneumonia crap….”

“Oh yeah,” Jack agreed, picking up the lipstick and heading out to the hall. “You'd still be you without your voice, but at the same time…” Jack put his ear up against the bathroom door, listening and grinning over at Mark.

Mark just stood back and let Jack enjoy himself. Tom had left the lights off in the bathroom and Mark could hear the muffle of his voice through the wood, but couldn’t make out any of the words themselves. He heard a thump and blinked, but Jack seemed to take that as his cue.

The door was open a crack already, so Jack sucked in a deep breath and kicked it open. “TOP O’ T’MORNIN’ TER YA, TOMMY-BOY!” He charged in to clamp his hand on Tom's shoulder, grinning maniacally into the mirror while Mark moved to the doorway to get a better look. Tom, the poor man, had verbalized an approximation of a keyboard smash and very nearly dropped the camera he was holding when Jack pounced on him. “We ‘av lashin’s ter chucker!” Jack pulled back on Tom's shoulder to knock him askew.

Tom had been clutching at the sink with his free hand until Jack tugged him, triggering another startled cry. He fumbled with the camera to stop the recording and immediately laughed, turning back to Jack’s heavily shadowed face with a grin. “Oh my god, Jack, you nearly gave me a heart attack I swear. I thought I was gonna die. If I didn’t know this was a setup I might have actually elbowed you in the face. You are _terrifying._ ”

Mark, still watching from the doorway, was stifling his own wheezing laughter with his hands. “Ohohoho crap, Tom. _Tom._ You should’ve seen your face when Jack burst in here, it was priceless, I can’t wait to see the footage. Best start to the vlog _ever._ How am I supposed to even _top that?!_ ”

Jack turned away with a howl of laughter himself, clapping his hands together. “That was _brilliant_ , Tom, why don’t you get on camera more? You’re a natural!”

Tom shrugged, but there was an easy smile resting on his face. “Just camera shy, I guess. Not really one for the limelight like Mark is.” He fiddled with the camera’s screen as Jack’s attention returned to Mark.

Jack had flipped on the lights, then spun to point a finger at the birthday boy. “Who’re they gonna blame it on, Anti or Dark? Obviously, that would be letting Anti out to play, but with all the Markiplier stuff, I could see some fan theories that I got possessed by Dark…”

Mark’s expression turned thoughtful- and devious. It had been a while since he even considered his “alternate personalities”; little one-offs his community went crazy with and extended to other YouTubers. He liked to indulge their imaginations more often than some other people, like Jack, but it _would_ be funny to blame it on one of them. “I think you should go with Anti on this one. From what I’ve seen of him, your actions were pretty spot-on. Crazed makeup and all.” Mark put a hand on his chin and struck a familiar pose. “Of course, if it had been _me,_ they’d be thinking of someone _other_ than Darkiplier.” He gave his words a distinct lisp that couldn’t be misinterpreted as anyone other than Wilford Warfstache himself. Tom snorted by the mirror.

“Everyone is going to eat this shit up,” Jack declared. “It’s gonna be your best video ever. But first…” He held up the lipstick, uncapping it dramatically. “Tommy-boy, you need to be made gorgeous… Why don’t you take a seat on the toilet while I do this?”

“Oh crap.” Tom grimaced.

“C’mon, Tom! It’s just one day. We won’t force you to do anything else ridiculous for the rest of the week- _promise._ We’ll treat you like the most honored guest _ever._ ” Mark clasped his hands in front of him and batted his eyelashes at his brother.

Tom’s face twisted at Mark’s begging, but he eventually sighed. “All right, all right. Let’s just get this over with.” He closed the camera but held onto it as he took a seat. Letting the piece of tech rest in his lap, he stared up at Jack with a grudging crease between his brows. “You only get to use what’s left. That’s how much I used on you- that’s _fair._ ” He stated firmly; completely missing Mark slipping out his phone to film the ordeal.

“Of course, of course! I wouldn’t _dream_ of breaking open a new tube for you…” Jack uncapped the lipstick and twisted it up. “Okay, press your lips together and try not to sneeze…”

Jack held Tom’s chin lightly as he smeared the pink lipstick into the older man’s black mustache, the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. “This is a lot harder to do neatly when the tip is already mashed up…” he remarked, attempting to sketch a curlicue twirl to the ends. It didn’t go very well.

He did eventually manage to create something that wasn’t completely horrifying, though the amount he was grinning should have given Tom a warning at the results. “Okay, so, uh, I’m an entertainer, not an artist… you can look in the mirror now.” Jack threw the remains of the lipstick in the trash.

“Oh my god this feels awful, this is terrible, I hate everything.” Tom moved immediately to the mirror. **_“JESUS CHRIST.”_**

Whatever control Mark had went straight out the window and he busted up with the hardest laugh he’d managed since Jack did the little leprechaun jig for him weeks ago. One arm wrapped firmly around his already aching stomach while the other stubbornly held onto his phone. Of course he needed to record the reaction; Tom hadn’t disappointed. He could already feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes while Tom leaned forward towards the mirror to leer at the monstrosity on his upper lip and wiggled it. Mark was sent sputtering again. “I’M SENDING THIS TO MOM-”

“What?! You were _recording it_ ** _Mark you little shit give ME THAT PHONE!!!_** ” Luckily, Tom wasn’t outright screaming at Mark; there was just a lot of embarrassed force in his tone. It was more hysterical than scary- made even moreso as Tom chased Mark straight out of the bathroom, the latter giggling all the while. “MARK!!”

“I’m sending it!!”

“MARK I’M GONNA BEAT YOU WITH A PILLOW!!!”

_“Nana nanana!!”_

Mark led Tom out the back door into the garden, which was already decorated for Mark’s birthday. They had been creating a lot of the decorations in the weeks leading up to Tom’s arrival. Cardboard animatronics leered out from around the trees, and cutouts of goats and pictures of goats were _everywhere_. Jack had even drawn goats on a handful of balloons. A pile of beautifully wrapped presents sat on a little folding table they’d dragged out to the garden, and Mark’s diamond play button and taco trophy were sitting in their places of pride.

“Oi! Mark! Tom! We about ready to get things started, or are you still trying to assert your masculinity on each other!?”

Mark and Tom were _still_ running back and forth by the time Jack shouted to them. Tom was trying to figure out how he could maneuver around the giant rhubarb next to the garden shed to get at Mark. Clearly, Mark was in his element.

“Haha, it’s sent, there’s no taking it back now!”

“You’re such a brat, Mark, oh my god.”

“You _love_ me.”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a brat.” Tom sighed. “Come on. We’ve got a party to get going. Let’s start before the clouds decide to come out again.” The sun had blessedly shown itself since that morning. Mark relished it as they returned to Jack in the center of the garden and Mark knew he looked far too pleased with himself.

“Reporting for party duty, Captain Jack! What’s first on the agenda? Didn’t we make up an outline or something?”

Jack had given Chica a beautiful pink ribbon bow, which Mark found absolutely adorable. “Well, for starters, Mark, you need to be wearing _your_ costume so Tom doesn’t feel so bad. It’s hard to be the prettiest boy at the ball, which is why we gave that task to you. And I think we should do the Chica reunion scene first just to get it out of the way while she’s being a good girl and behaving and still has some energy.” Jack ruffled Chica’s ears and adjusted the bow.

“Oh crap, I almost forgot!” Luckily, Mark had left his own party accessories on the table once they were done decorating the garden. He had a feeling he’d forget about them and didn’t want to run into the house before they got to “work”. Mark dashed the few feet to snatch up the crown first and place it primly atop his prominent floof. Next came a cape; different from Jack’s iconic, superhero-esque one. It was a rich red that would have matched his hair if it was still dyed with a fluffy white fringe, truly the best for any king. On went the signature ASS-ASS glasses. As if he didn’t already look ridiculous enough, there was a pretty pink light up fairy wand waiting for him with ribbons. It was beautiful.

“I will never understand what YouTube does to you people. _Never._ ” Tom breathed as Mark returned to them feeling perfectly confident and proud with how stupid his outfit was. In all honesty, he’d worn worse. At least he wasn’t pelvic thrusting with two sides of salmon in hot pink booty shorts.

“Once you start whoring your dignity out for views, it never stops,” Jack said sadly, shaking his head at Tom’s comment. Mark gave a solemn nod in agreement with Jack’s answer. Tom just shook his head again.

“But _first_ , we need to talk about basic camera safety. Namely, having a safe word.” Jack was still smiling, but there was a serious bent to his tone. “I figured ‘Felix’ is something we’re not gonna say at this party, right? So if any of us say ‘Felix,’ that’s cue to _immediately_ turn off the cameras and put them down. This is supposed to be fun, not stressful.” Jack held Mark’s gaze for a moment before looking over to Tom. “That’s something you can use too. Mark and I threw our dignity out the window _years_ ago when we sold our souls to YouTube, but if we’re pushing things too far for you, feel free to Felix us.”

Thankfully, the hilarity of the moment didn’t derail the boys from the severity of Jack’s explanation and they both gave a nod. “I’m pretty damn glad to hear that. ‘Cause it already looks like I’m gonna be wanting to toss myself into the river within the hour.” Tom muttered.

“Oh, c’mon, Tom! It’s not gonna be _that_ bad. We’re just gonna play some games, perform a few memes and open presents! And _eat cake._ Delicious cake, Tom. You can’t be upset about _that._ ” Mark wiggled his eyebrows at his brother. Tom merely puffed out a breath from between his lips. “I’ll keep the safe word in mind, but I don’t think I’ll have a problem with our recreation of the reunion. I’ll be way too distracted by Chica. Oh!! I should start my intro and then be interrupted by her beautiful doggy hugs and kisses! That’s what we should do!” Mark bounced up and down a bit, making his royal cape flutter.

Jack clapped his hands together, bouncing to his feet. “Okay, so, intro and reunion first? Tom, do you wanna try to film that? There’s a tripod to keep the camera steady, just get Mark in the frame and you should be good. Does Chica know how to speak? What if we start, and I’ll hold her and try to get her to interrupt with a bark, and you can be all confused and try again, and then on the third time you can notice her and we do a slo-mo running together?”

“Yeah, I can film it. Least I won’t have to be on camera again just yet.”

“Oh yeah, she knows how to speak all right. Speaks her mind all the time, dontcha girl?” Mark bent down to scrub affectionately at Chica’s head while Tom went to setup the camera. “That sounds like a great idea. No one knows she’s here yet, right? Everyone’ll think we got a new dog or something, but nope! Chica-bica came to Ireland with big brother Thomas! It’ll be _great._ ” Chica looked excited. She was really loving all of the attention and there wasn’t a doubt she would _nail_ Mark when it was her cue.

“C’mon, Chica, come back here, we gotta give you some space for a good run-up to daddy.” Jack drew Chica back away from Mark, keeping his fingers curled firmly in her collar. He crouched beside Chica and grinned at Mark. “Okay, whenever you’re ready!”

Though Chica went willingly with Jack, it was obvious she wanted to stick close to Mark. She padded from paw to paw in her place, tail wagging enthusiastically, and let loose a soft whine or two. Mark gave her a reassuring little wave and made his way in front of the camera. Tom shot him a thumbs up from where he was positioned behind it. “Whenever you’re ready,” he echoed.

_Whenever you’re ready._

Was Mark ready? Could he _really_ do this? It was the first time he would knowingly be on camera since he was in the room- in a video, anyway. He’d been okay with pictures for a little while now and video was the next step up; the challenge he needed to conquer if he was going to reclaim his YouTube channel and get it running again, which was something he _desperately_ wanted to do. Playing games and doing audio only collaborations had reminded him of just how much he _loved_ his job. How he loved to act, and dramatize, and just be a big idiot on camera. Those men had twisted Mark’s passion and he’d let them have their run in his mind for far too long. They couldn’t ruin him. They couldn’t tell him what to do or what to love; only _he_ could do that as his own person. Not a slave, and not a dog, but a person. A Mark. A _Markiplier._

Mark took a moment to clench his fists and draw in a deep breath through his nose. He wasn’t in the room anymore. He probably wasn’t even in the same _country._ He was in Ireland, in their backyard; the one he shared with Jack, the one he’d built up from weeds and rust. He wasn’t surrounded by _them._ He was surrounded by three of his most beloved companions. His dog (more like fluffy child), his brother and his best friend. He was surrounded by people who loved him and wanted to take care of him. They weren’t going to laugh _at_ him- they would only laugh _with_ him and make _him_ laugh. Tom and Jack were doing this not only for his channel, but to make Mark _happy_ and he had nothing to be afraid of.

The exhale flowed out of his slightly parted lips, and with it, all of his tension. It eased away from his muscles and expression as water swirling down the drain as his fists unclenched. His expression cleared much like the sky above them had when he looked at the camera. ‘ _My name is Markiplier, and I am going to make this vlog.’_ He gave a nod to Tom and for the first time in months, as the little red light came on, Mark didn’t flip a switch. He didn’t immediately plaster on a convincing smile that failed to reach his eyes and there was no forced cheer in his tone. The emotions and expression he conveyed were genuine; not quite as giddy and confident as he used to be, but content. Determined. Mark was just as eager to greet his viewers as he always was and he raised his hand in his signature wave.

“Hello everybody! My name is Markiplier and today we-”

There was a bark. Jack had great timing. Mark blinked, realized no one would see it behind his shades, and pushed his expression into a confused flicker instead.

“...and today we’re going to celebrate my birthday! As you all know, I’m a rickety old man now, but-”

Another bark, louder this time. Mark made a show of pausing his intro and looking around a bit; even though he could see Chica clear as day just a few yards away. Slowly, he continued.

“...but that’s not going to stop me from having the craziest birthday vlog ever! And you’re all invited… to watch, anyway. Sorry, non-disclosure agreement prevents me from telling you where it is. Though by the time you watch this, it’ll be over anyway! Woo- oh, hang on.” Mark dug into his pocket and pulled out a party-popper. Cracking it open with a loud snap, he threw his arms up in a boisterous cheer. “Woo!! So first we-” A flurry of barking had started up around the time Mark used the prop, but he’d pretended to ignore its existence. The bounding of doggy paws could just be heard before Chica, in all her grown up glory, slammed into him out of nowhere.

Mark went down in a flurry of cape and gold fur and wet kisses. He sputtered in feigned shock but didn’t push Chica away. Instead he dug his hands deep into her fur, as he’d done yesterday, and hugged her close. It wasn’t hard to fake a sob or two. He kind of felt like crying again anyway, because he’d done it; he had. He’d successfully gone in front of the camera again and Chica was there, she was still there and giving him all her love and it was amazing. Mark buried his face into her chest with muffled cries of “Oooh Chica-bica!!” and “My little pupperschnupp, oh my god, you’re here!!” Chica, oblivious to the contrivity of the scene, barked happily and buried Mark’s upper half beneath her bulk.

“I’d say that’s a successful cut.” Tom quipped from his position behind the camera’s tripod.

“Tenouttaten!” Jack agreed. “So, birthday boy, what do you want to do first? Presents? Cake? Show off your garden? Pinata? Magic tricks? Party games?”

Eventually, Mark managed to push Chica off of him. He quickly got to his feet before she could try pinning him again but let a hand linger between her ears. He did his best to straighten out his birthday boy outfit while he considered the options Jack provided. All _excellent_ choices; all things he was excited or eager to get to but after the intro in a new environment, he felt one was needed more than the rest. “I want to show them the garden! Get them familiar with the space before we start filming crazy shenanigans in it. We can show them the potato babies too!!”

Tom looked to Jack with a questioning expression. “...’potato babies’?”

Jack looked at Tom, then looked back to Mark. “I thought you took him out here yesterday? And you _didn’t_ introduce him to his potato nephews? Jesus Christ, Mark, you reintroduce _me_ to them whenever they grow a new leaf!”

“I wanted to surprise him! I showed him the veggies but I didn’t point out our _tuber children_ specifically. You, as their second parental guardian, _need_ to know when they’ve grown an extra inch. Or leaf. Or what have you.”

Tom was staring at Mark as if he’d had been huffing too much Irish river gas or something. Nonetheless, he shook his head and conceded to the madness.

Jack sighed and held up his own camera. “Okay, let’s do this. Garden tour. Don’t point out the river.”

So it was, for the next fifteen to twenty minutes, Mark went bounding excitedly around the garden with Chica in tow. “This is our willow tree! Isn’t it huuuuge?! Jack and I sit under it sometimes ‘cause it’s all shaded and awesome. Good picnic spot.” He focused more on the plants, which he had come to love dearly, than the camera following him around. “And we’ve got two oak trees, which are pretty cool. They’ll be dropping acorns in the autumn. Then we’ll have a bunch of squirrels, and I can reclaim my title!”

“You’re still a nut anyway.” Tom commented.

“Says the peanut gallery!” Talking about his new hobby and responding to occasional quips from the other two helped with Mark’s anxiety. “See, over here by the house, we’ve got _tons_ of ivy. And rose bushes! The blooms are starting to die off now because of summer but you can still spot a few.” He went around the entire perimeter of the space and didn’t pass up a single bit of flora, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. “This stuff? Pineapple weed. Crazy name, but it tastes _awesome._ No joke. Look it up. Smells just like pineapples too. Took Jack _forever_ to get the difference.” He paused to shoot cameraman Jack a cheeky look.

Jack extended a hand into the camera’s view, holding up his middle finger at Mark. “Doofus over there goes _crazy_ when I pretend I don’t know the difference. Don’t let him convince you otherwise!”

“Who do you think is telling the truth? Let us know in the comments!” Mark said before continuing his tour. “I know the names of _everything_ here. Literally. I looked it all up and found out how to take care of the wild stuff and planted some new ones.” He ticked off the plants as they were “discovered”; brooklime and lady’s smock and gipsywort. Some were in bloom, others were just leaves, but Mark’s enthusiasm remained consistent overall. “We’ve even got forget-me-nots! And this _enormous_ rhubarb plant. Do you _see_ this thing?? It’s leaves are the size of Chica!! It could _eat Chica._ ” Mark exclaimed with a bit of arm flailing while Chica merely nipped curiously at the plant; proving it was harmless. That didn’t stop Tom from spitting out a reference.

_“Feed me, Marky.”_

Mark snorted. “And there, everybody, is my brother who _refuses_ to fool around on camera with me but can make shitty references to outdated cult classics. Way to raise the bar, Thomas.” To round out the tour, he shuffled to a specific spot in the garden. Here, the earth was more neatly cultivated and labeled with cute little signs Mark had drawn _himself._ He was quite proud of his handiwork all around. “Here we’ve got some wild peppermint and spearmint. We use it sometimes for teas or salads and stuff but when I first found it, I rubbed the peppermint all over me and Jack thought I was hiding candy canes all day. _Hilarious._ But that’s not why I brought you over here.” Mark whispered conspiratorially, as if the viewing audience was literally there and not a camera.

He planted himself in front of the little vegetable garden and spread his arms out with a slight flare of his cape for added effect. “ _This._ Is the veggie garden. The one I dug up and planted and nurtured with my _bare hands._ You can’t grow much in Ireland ‘cause of all the wet and not enough sun, but we’re growing a lot of root stuff. And one in particular I’m especially excited to talk about…” He stepped carefully to a part of the garden that was walled off with chicken wire.

Mark crouched over seven little sprouts and pointed each one out to the camera. “ _These_ are the potato babies. Jeffery, Billy, Samwise, Marshall, Tim, Sam and, of course, Bubblebutt. You can tell which one’s Sam ‘cause he isn’t fully underground and you can see his little green top in the dirt there, just like-”

“-his daddy’s favorite color,” Jack interrupted, stepping in swiftly to clap a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Because contrary to popular belief, Markiplier’s favorite color is _green_ , and Sam knows it and loves his real dad.”

Mark startled and immediately pouted up at Jack. He should have known the other would dodge claiming any rightful responsibility of the spuds. Mark huffed and rose to his feet. “True as that may be, what I was _going_ to say before _Jack_ so rudely interrupted me was that Sam is just like his _other daddy._ Y’know, the _green one?_ The _Irish one?_ We made a commitment, Jack! You’re upsetting the spuchildren. The tuberkids. The rooty babies. Take responsibility!”

Tom, behind the camera, was losing it. “Oh my _fucking god,_ ** _Mark._** ”

“It was _one time_ , Mark, _Jesus_! I bought you the seeds you asked for! That doesn’t mean I’m responsible for the tatertots!” Jack prodded a finger at the camera, turning his pout toward the nonexistent audience. “Let this be a lesson, kids, _always use protection_. Even if you didn’t do anything...Mark, I demand a paternity test! Just because I’m Irish doesn’t automatically mean your potato babies have my genes!”

“One time is enough, Jack! You _brought them home._ How can you just disown them like this?” Mark gave a dramatic gasp. “And _call them that._ What is _wrong_ with you?! They can _hear you._ ” His voice dropped to an accusatory whisper. Tom and Chica were watching the proceedings with amusement and befuddlement, respectively. Mark faced the camera as well. “ _No,_ take this as a lesson, everyone. Don’t buy seeds if you aren’t prepared to take responsibility. I did all the hard work, Jack! The least you could do is support me. _And_ them.” He sniffed. In the background, Tom had started chanting _“Maury, Maury”_ just loudly enough for the camera to pick up.

“Oh Mark, Iplier, don’t cry. Aren’t I supporting you already? Giving you this big house, providing all this lovely dirt for the taytos to... _no_! No, you are not catching me up in this trap! I am not the father!” Jack paused. “Or the mother!” He paused again. “DON’T LET PEWDIEPIE SEE MY SHAME!” Jack covered his face.

Mark knew he was about to break character; his face was twitching. Jack, too, had trembling shoulders. Tom shook his head. He loudly cleared his throat so it would be heard by the viewers and cupped his free hand over his mouth in a shout. “Hey guys!! I think it’s about time for some cake!” Chica immediately perked up and redirected her gaze to Tom with a wagging tail.

Mark was thrown out of the little parent drama he’d purposefully kicked up and swung his head around to smile at the camera excitedly. “Did you say cake?! Cake solves _everything._ Right Jack? Let’s eat cake!!!” He dropped his hands on the Irishman’s shoulders and beamed at him.

“CAKE!” Jack threw both hands in the air, grinning. He managed to hold it for half a minute before _dying_ , doubling over and wheezing in laughter. “ _Oh god_ , Mark, the shippers are going to _die_ …”

“You aren’t kidding! Holy crap, I didn’t mean to go all out like that, it just sort of happened! That was hilarious!!” Mark was laughing too, though his wasn’t quite as raucous, and he pulled off both pairs of glasses to rub at his eyes. He looked over at Tom. “You got all that, right?? You don’t think we overdid it?”

Tom rolled his eyes. He shut the view screen of the camera and shook his head. “I got it. And I think you two are absolutely _insane._ Your fangirls are gonna lose it. I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.” The deadpan snark was real. “I cut it off before you broke the mood, though. No worries there. I still say we should cut into that cake. Not that you two need the sugar or anything. I just don’t want us to forget about it.”

“Bah, that’s what editing is for,” Jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As long as we can get through the scene without breaking mid-word or something, we can cut the rest out.” He reached down to give Sam’s leaves a pat. “And you know, maybe, Mark, _maybe_ I’ll claim this little potato as mine. But I had _nothing_ to do with the rest!”

The expression on Mark’s face told all. It was some obscene combination of pride, excitement, joy, approval, smugness and just an all around silent “I told you so”/”Haha you agree with me” vibe. Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hey lovebirds!! Cake, remember? Chop chop! We’re burning precious sunlight.” He squinted at a cloud that had appeared to drift lazily across the otherwise unmarred sky. _His_ expression clearly made the statement of: _I’m watching you, cloud. Don’t even think of ruining my baby brother’s birthday._

Jack made Mark turn around before he brought the cake out. Mark could hear Jack fiddling with foil and other unknown items before he was allowed to finally see his birthday cake. Tom had started filming again in his peripheral. “Ta-daaaa!” Jack trilled, giving jazz hands at the cake. “Tiny Box Tim came out for your birthday...just in time for us to _eat him_!”

Mark gasped so hard and loud it was a wonder the massive inhale didn’t instantly overfill his lungs and make them pop in his chest. He openly gawked at the adorable cake with nothing short of complete awe and admiration on his face. The shades hid the fact his brown eyes were wide as saucers, but his gaping mouth and excitedly clenched fists served as indication enough. He stood like that for approximately five seconds before the inhale had to come back out. When it did, it was in the form of several giddy cries and squeals- well, much as Mark could squeal with his naturally low pitch. It rapidly devolved into a mixture of giggles as well when he eagerly stepped closer for a better look at all the details.

“ _Awwwwwww_ he’s so cute!! Lookit his little smile and his adorable hands, _ahhhhh!!_ He’s adorable. Impossibly _adorable._ I don’t even care that he’s not super tiny this is the _cutest fucking thing_ I think I’ve ever seen, and now I have to eat him _oh my god Jack how could you._ I bet he’s delicious, too. You evil _bastard._ ” Mark babbled while he swooned over the cake and generally did some flailing that set Chica to bounding about as well. He sucked in a breath just so he could let loose another soft _“eeeee”._ The pure joy on his face was infectious.

“I think you broke him, Jack!” Tom shouted as the invisible voice behind the camera.

Jack pointed at the cake, staring the camera down. “ _Proof_ ,” he said. “Proof that I am not a fail in the kitchen. And thank you to all of the cooking gurus who I messaged desperately yesterday when I was having decorating issues-- _lifesavers_ , all of you!” He was laughing and grinning. “You can take a picture, if you want,” Jack offered, “but I didn’t make him to _not_ be eaten. You and your Funfetti demands…” He picked up a knife and brandished it at Tim threateningly. “You can have a picture, but then either you cut into him, or I will…”

“All right, all right. I concede that _maybe_ you’re better in the kitchen than I would initially believe. I mean, you _did_ make not only a Funfetti cake, but a _Tiny Box Tim_ cake on top of it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. Maybe you can cook a little more often in the kitchen, then!” Mark quipped from where he was still half-crouched over the cake, admiring and cooing over it. He didn’t need to be told twice. Out came the phone to snap several photos from various angles and then he leaned down to snap a selfie with it.

Tom caught it all on camera with a light eye roll of exasperation. “Mark, you can make triplicates of the photos _later._ Let’s cut into the thing before it melts. Or Jack murders someone. Either way.”

Mark directed an immediate pout to Jack as he put his phone away. Would he not get chocolate all over his clothes, he probably would have hugged the damn thing. “Jack!! Do we _have_ to? He’s my precious little biscuit! He served me so well in Amnesia. Watched my back and everything. Now I finally have him back, and you wanna cut him up into pieces?”

“Oh fine, _fine_ ,” Jack said, exasperated. “I’ll put the knife down. We won’t cut him up...yet. We’ll just _light him on fire_!” Jack whipped out a lighter from his back pocket, flicking the flame and leaning over to light the candles. “Ready Tom? Happy birthday to you…!”

As they started to sing to Mark, Jack leaned over and picked up a megaphone he must have hidden earlier.

Mark’s expression went from relief to horror to giddiness all over again. He was smiling as Tom joined in to sing with Jack but then the megaphone came out. There was a barely caught mutter of _“Oh my god.”_ from Tom as Mark’s face dropped. “ _Jack,_ ** _no-_** ” Too late.

Jack grinned at Mark before lifting it to his mouth to continue the song. “ _HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR MARKIPLIER!_ ”

(Just over the fence, a disgruntled neighbor was frowning at them.)

The Irishman was shouting into the damn thing and Chica immediately began to howl. Mark comically covered his ears. Tom’s wince was practically audible, but he finished singing with Jack before speaking up about it.

“ _Happy birthday to you._ Great. Hey loudmouth, you’re disturbing the neighbors.” Tom jerked a thumb off-camera at the older woman staring them all down.

Mark turned to take a look and beamed at the surprise “guest”. He lifted a hand in a wave. “Hi, Mrs. McDonald! It’s my birthday!!” He said it almost exactly like a little kid would and he caught Tom’s snort in the background.

“Sorry Mrs. McDonald!” Jack shouted through the megaphone, but he lifted his hand to wave at their neighbor too, finally dropping the device. “Want some cake? It’s homemade!”

Mrs. McDonald shook her head at the rambunctious boys, but she did lift her hand to wave back. She was a nice old lady. Mark saw her a lot when they both worked in their respective gardens and would chat with her on occasion; swapping tips or news. He knew Jack helped her bring her shopping back if they were on the bus together too. She was allowed to be crotchety as long as she didn’t ruin Mark’s birthday.

(So far, she was only improving things.)

Jack picked up the knife again and gestured to the cake. “Make a wish, Mark!”

“I wish you wouldn’t stab my adorable little biscuit!!” Mark half-wailed. Chica seemed a _little_ concerned, but of course she was mostly focused on the cake.

“Just cut the thing already. The longer you hold it off, the more he’s gonna blubber. He’ll stop once he’s stuffing his face with it.” Tom called out; providing a steady stream of behind-the-scenes commentary.

“If you say it out loud, it won’t come true!” Jack plucked the candles out of Tim’s hands after Mark had blown them out and brought the knife down across the bottom of the box. He sliced them all thick, large pieces of the cake, two layers of funfetti with strawberry jam between them, slathered in chocolate frosting. The first piece, from the corner, Jack transferred onto a plate and offered to Mark.

“For you, birthday princess, the greatest frosting-to-cake ratio.”

Mark was making a real show out of being both horrified and despairing at the same time while Jack mercilessly cut into the cake. However, as soon as Jack offered him the enormous, frosting-slathered piece his attitude changed. He brightened up and accepted the plate with a quiet “Oh _Hell_ yes.” as Tom moved closer with the camera. Mark wasted no time stabbing his piece with a fork. “Tim, I salute you, for you’ve made a _very_ worthy self-sacrifice this day.”

“How does he taste?” Tom asked.

Mark’s answer was garbled around a large bite he’d promptly shoveled into his mouth: _“Fucking delicious.”_

“Victory!” Jack pumped his fist in the air. “Jackaboy wins! Best cake maker evaaaa!” He cut slices for Tom and himself, and then an extra piece for Mrs. McDonald. He had to stand on his toes to pass it over the tall fence separating their yards, but the old lady accepted it with her thanks and best wishes to the birthday boy.

Jack returned to the table, gesturing for Tom to set up the camera on the tripod so they could all eat cake without worrying about who was filming. “Mm, Tim, you really _are_ delicious. Best mascot ever. Sam would taste all ick and septic, but Tim really is a little biscuit…”

Tom stopped the recording and reattached the camera to its tripod before joining them so he could dig in as well. He hummed, “Not bad. I mean, it _is_ still Funfetti. Whose idea was that? Of all flavors?”

Mark’s amused snort told all. He was currently doing his best not to get any crumbs or frosting on himself; notoriously messy eater that he was. Chica sat diligently at his feet, watching him, waiting for the first sign of _any_ spillage that could be gobbled up. It didn't take long at all for Mark to pity his pup. “Do we have anything for Chica to nibble on? She should get to have cake too!”

Jack pointed at Mark. “I’ve never even _had_ Funfetti cake before. Can Chica have some of the inside of the cake? If we give her a piece that hasn’t touched the chocolate?”

“This is a job for Google.”

Mark perked up as Tom pulled out his phone. “Did someone say-”

“No. No Googleplier. Just eat your cake, Mark. This is why they invented smartphones.” There was a brief pause while Tom tapped at his screen with a thumb. “Okay, it looks like… the strawberry jam is fine. Strawberries are actually good for dogs. The Funfetti shouldn’t be a big deal either, just don’t give her a lot. You know what? Let me do it. I know you, Mark. You’ve got ‘sucker’ written on your forehead.”

Jack chuckled. He leaned over to snag the camera, switching it back on and turning it so all three of them were in the shot. “While we’re eating, this might be a perfect time for a new segment!” He popped a forkful of cake into his mouth and jazz-handed while he swallowed. “Learning Languages with Tomiplier!

“So, Thomas.” Jack steepled his fingers, tapping his forefingers against his lips. “How would one say... _happy birthday_ in Korean?”

Tom had pocketed his phone and moved to cut Chica a little, _chocolate free,_ slice of cake. The slice fell right out of his hands into the grass when he was suddenly put on the spot- not that Chica minded- and he sputtered. “Wait, hang on-”

Mark was laughing into his cake. He gave Tom a nudge with his elbow. “Oh c’mon, Tom! You get to _teach_ people! They’re _learning_ things. It’s just some Korean.”

“I _know_ it’s just Korean.” Tom mumbled while he shuffled his feet a bit.

“Okay. Well, wasn’t it something like… _sungoo chukkanay?_ ” Little bits of cake fell from his mouth. Tom looked exasperated.

“What? No. Oh my god, Mark, you _just_ heard it this morning. It’s _saengil chukhahae \- _oh god damn it.” Tom’s cheeks went a smidge pink while Mark laughed. “No, no, listen okay don’t go spouting that at any Korean person you know, because it’s the _really informal_ version. I don’t know the other kind off-hand but you gotta watch with other cultures. You could insult someone. Seriously.”

 _“Saengil chukhahae!”_ Jack trilled to Mark, clapping his hands together and giving a little bob of his head. “And that was Learning Languages with Tomiplier! Next time on Learning Languages: Irish! _Breithlá sona_!”

Mark was beaming. Tom still looked severely uncomfortable as he muttered a soft, “There won’t _be_ a next time….”

Jack glanced over at Tom and gave a cough, circling his hand at the older man. “All together now: _Breithlá sona!_ _Breiiithlá sooooona_.”

The Irish was new. Both Americans stared at Jack like he’d grown a second head, then exchanged glances. Mark gave a little shrug; he’d attempted worse in the past. _“Braylaw suhnuh!”_

“You’re impossible.” Tom deadpanned, glanced at Jack, then sighed in defeat. _“Breithla sona.”_ His pronunciation was a bit off, but not nearly so bad as Mark’s. Mark wasn’t even _trying._

Jack gave the pair a flat look and then shook his head, turning back to the camera. “Why do I even bother? _Breithlá sona. Croí folláin agus gob fliuch._ And that was Learning Languages with Tomiplier! Next time on Learning Languages: German!” Jack extended his hands to both the Fischbach brothers expectantly.

They stared at Jack again. Tom let loose a fresh sigh; Mark was _still_ beaming like a little shit. They ended up speaking together- with Mark completely drowning out Tom in the process.

“It’s something like _Herzlichen Gluckwunschhhhh…_ uhhh…”

_“Schwanz!!”_

**_“Mark.”_** The younger Fischbach’s low chuckling was a dead giveaway.

“That is _not_ how you say happy birthday in German!” Jack told the camera with a grin and a waggle of his finger. “It is definitely not something you’d want to say in front of your mother!  And that was Learning Languages with Tomiplier!” Jack held his grin for a beat before giggling, turning his smile on Mark. “You’re a dirty doof, Markiplier! Think of the kiddies!”

“Hey now, listen, anyone watching this vlog is probably someone who watches my usual stuff. If they aren’t used to the dick jokes by now then I don’t know what to tell them.” Mark shrugged; still hosting a childish, giddy expression at his own humor.

Tom shook his head and moved to switch off the camera again. “Let’s eat this cake before the bugs get to it.”

“Just watch some kid smart enough not to say ‘dicks’ in front of their parents say _schwanz_ in front of someone who knows German, thinking they're being nice…” Jack laughed, digging into his cake. “Mmf!” He pressed two fingers to his lips, choking cake and laughter together. “My mustache!”

Tom and Jack had to touch up each other's respective pink mustaches after finishing their cake. Mark snuck some more to Chica when they weren’t looking, and then the boys cleaned up the leftovers. Well, Tom started clearing the space for the next segment while Mark and Jack screwed around in front of the camera. They both had their glasses up close to the lens so it could make out the tiny boat-shaped ice cubes. (They were actually those plastic things filled with water that could be frozen and used in lieu of ice cubes, but no one had to know that.)

Mark gave a very soft, slow whistle as he pushed one of the little boats down towards the bottom of his cup. It was a parody of both the Titanic sinking _and_ stop motion animation. “Should’ve watched out for that boat-shaped iceberg. Tragedy strikes again. At least they’re all drowning in iced tea this time. What do you think, Jack?”

“Hang on, people! Rescue is coming!” Jack bumped one of his ships into the side of the glass, trying futilely to reach Mark's. “Oh noooo! They're all going to drown! Ahhh! Psheeeew!” Jack sank his own ship into the depths of his drink. “Ahhh! Ahhh! Nooooo!”

“Oh nooo! Now there won’t be rescue for anyone! We’re all going to diiiiiie. Jack. Jack, hold onto me, it’s gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let you drown.” Mark was throwing his voice in ways he’d been unable to due to his pneumonia. They were still a bit weak, but it was funny nonetheless.

“I'll never let you go, Mark! I'll never let you...is that a _goat_?” Jack's high-pitched ice-person voice was easily distracted. “It _is_! A goat! Hang on, goat! I'm coming!” Jack reached into his glass and fished out a ship, flying it into one of the goat paper plates he had acquired for the party. “I'll never let you go, goat!”

“... _Jack you stole my line_ ** _and ruined the joke with your stupid goats!!!_** ” Mark outright whined even though his lips were viciously twitching with the urge to laugh or grin. No matter how much he _hated_ that running gag between them, Jack’s random actions were just too funny. The fact _none_ of their fans would get it made the scene even better and Mark fished out one of his own ships to flick at Jack pettily. “I’m gonna sink your battleship for this!!”

 _“Oh my god if you two keep this shit up_ ** _I’m going to walk home!!_** And I mean _USA_ home. Don’t think I won’t. I will channel the literal embodiment of Jesus Christ and walk across miles of ocean if you two don’t move your butts and _help me set this crap up._ ” Tom’s voice had gone into full blown “adult” mode.

Jack looked over at Mark, caught his eye and just dissolved into childish giggles. “I think Dad's calling,” he stage-whispered for the camera. “We're in trouble now!”

“Oh crap, we really pissed off the grump monster this time. I hope he doesn’t drag us off by our ears like some crotchety old school teacher.” Mark staged-whispered right back with just as much suppressed giggling.

Giggles or not, Jack did flick one last iceberg at Mark before shaking his fingers off and wandering over to help Tom clear away the food to set up the world's worst magic show.

Mark flailed away the miniature iceberg but let Jack wander back to help Tom. No need to let the audience witness the “magic”; he switched the camera off, which was good. Mark was having fun but he could tell he was in need of a breather. Thankfully, it would take a bit for the magic show to get set up. In the meantime, he plopped onto the grass with Chica where he could sip at his iced tea and watch.

“If we needed a supervisor, you’d probably be the last person we called, Mark.” Tom drawled in the same grumpy tone as before while he continued aiding Jack. Mark just shrugged.

“Who says I’m even doing that much? You two are great! Keep up the good work!”

The magic show wasn’t going to be that exciting, but they were still putting in the effort to make it look at least partially professional… by spreading flattened cardboard boxes over the grass to create a “stage.” They dragged the cardboard goats and animatronics around, and Jack gave Tom a goat pinata to tie to one of the branches of the oak tree over their heads.

“Need my motherfucking kitty cat mask,” Jack said as he pulled on his cat mask from his magic video. “How does it look, Tom? Meow!” The mask had… seen better days. There was a crease across one cheek, and there was a doodle in blue marker on the side.

“...I'm a digital artist. Crafts aren't my thing. Nice doodle.” Tom shook his head as he moved to sit beside Mark and Chica.

Jack stuck his tongue out and hissed at Tom. “Okay, okay, go sit in the audience!” Jack set his magic kit on top of an upturned box that was his podium. “It’s time for magic, bitches!”

Mark had his hand on Chica so she wouldn't jump up and try to pounce on whatever trick Jack was going to pull but he lifted his glass in support. “Go knock’em dead, you Irish Mysterio!”

“I didn't even know he was into magic.”

“I'll show you his video later. It's hilarious. Top stuff.”

“Is it even serious magic?” Tom got his answer when Mark just beamed at him. “Great.”

Jack bowed to Mark’s cheer, sweeping his cape back. “And now, ladies and gentleman and people of all genders! A trick sure to wow and amaze your friends!” Jack looked around exaggeratedly. “And people you coerced to being your audience by bribing them with cake! Ta-daaaa!” He pulled a rubber band with a metal ring on it out of his box.

“Just an ordinary metal ring, on an ordinary rubber band, right, right? _No_! This ring is MAGIC. It can DEFY GRAVITY! Watch!” Jack stretched the band between his hands, pulling on one side to make the ring start crawling up the rubber. “AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!”

“YEEEAAAH!!! Look at that, Tom!! Isn't he amazing??” Mark was making it exceptionally difficult to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Chica gave a few barks of her own in approval, tail wagging.

“...woohoo!” Well, it wasn't _wild_ on Tom’s part but at least he _cheered._

Jack laughed and stretched out the rubber band even further, then released it. The band flew off over the fence. “Woo, look at it go! Defying gravity! Uh… SORRY MRS. MCDONALD! THAT WASN’T US!”

“Well I'm not gonna be the one to get it back.”

“Oh come on, Tom! That was funny! It's magic _and_ humor!! Y'know, like Penn and Teller. Laugh!” Mark emphasized a low chuckle as if his brother had forgotten how. Tom just sent him a sidelong glance.

Jack bowed. “AND NOW, FOR THE PIECE DE RESISTANCE!” He picked up his deck of magical mind-reading cards, stuck it behind his back, and then whipped it out with a flourish. “I WILL GUESS YOUR CARD!”

He dumped the cards into his hand and chucked the box over his shoulder (it hit Bonnie), then fanned out the cards and offered them into the audience. “You, birthday princess! Pick a card! Don’t tell me what it is!”

Tom had cracked an amused smile when the box smacked into Bonnie’s cardboard face. However, Mark was nearly trampling him as he leaped to his feet. He practically danced forward so he could examine the cards with a serious expression. “Hmmm…. _Hmmm….”_

“Just _pick a card_ already, Mark!”

“Fine, fine, fine! Geez! Don't rush me.” Mark turned to stick his tongue out at Tom. Tom shot it right back. After a few more seconds of debate, Mark clearly picked the Jack of Hearts for the audience. He felt rather clever and the let the smugness show in his expression. “This one.”

“Memorize your card! Don’t forget it now!” Jack took the card back from Mark, turning it so the camera could get the shot but he couldn’t see what it was. “Okay, now…” He threw the rest of the cards behind him as well. He started to squint at the back of the card, but the “tense” anticipation was broken when he abruptly gave a shout.

“OH MY GOD IS THAT A SWAN!?” Jack pointed wildly off-camera.

Mark whipped around, a combination of eager and terrified; then shifted to confused and disappointed when he found nothing there. He turned back to Jack with slight suspicion.

“Nope, just a duck. False alarm. But back to the PIECE DE RESISTANCE!” Jack mangled the French accent on the words. “Markiplier, is your card...the _Jack of Hearts_?” He flipped the card around again to see it and threw it in the air. “AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!”

Mark had a feeling shenanigans were underfoot, but he didn’t let that bring the mood down. He put on a stunned expression and threw his arms into the air.

_“Oh my gooooooooood!!!”_

Jack had caught onto what Mark was going for and synced perfectly with the older man. The sound triggered a few brief howls from Chica. Tom reached around to stop the recording. “Just a heads up that I am _not_ cleaning up your mess this time.”

Mark got a wicked gleam in his eye and leaned in to whisper at Jack’s ear. “You guys got the pinata out. Why don’t we use it? I’ve got a great opening joke for Mr. Grumpy Giblets over there….”

Jack glanced back at the paper mache goat and grinned. “I’ll turn the camera back on,” he whispered to Mark.

Mark beamed at Jack and gave him a subtle thumbs up on the side Tom couldn’t see, though it was obvious the elder Fischbach was already growing suspicious; whispering was hardly inconspicuous. Hoping to distract Tom before he could think too deep on the sight, Mark turned back to his brother and waved him over. “Hey Tom! Tom!! Jack’s gonna pick up his cards and all but can you help me make sure this pinata’s secured right? I mean, you know I love this garden. I’d be _pissed_ if one of the oak’s branches was hurt because of a faulty tie…. I mean, are you _sure_ this one’s thick enough??”

Tom gave the longest suffering sigh imaginable and got to his feet. Chica stood to pad after him so she could be by her favorite human again. “Mark. The branch is _fine._ Look at it. The thing’s not even _moving._ Just because I haven’t put one of these up in like, _years,_ that doesn’t mean I forgot how.”

“Okaaaay but, I mean, these are _Irish trees._ Maybe they’re different from American ones! I think you should test it. Like, give a swing at the pinata and see if the branch creaks or anything when it moves. Don’t break it, though! That’s _my_ job.” Mark struck a confident pose that was helpfully fueled by Jack turning on the camera again in his peripheral vision. Chica was busily sniffing at the tree.

Tom stared Mark down hard for several moments before letting loose a begrudging sound. “ _Fine._ Fine, I’ll check it, if only you’ll quit asking about it. You’re lucky it’s your birthday, _aesaekki._ ” He shuffled over to the big, wooden stick they’d left leaning against the tree (they wanted a classic look) while Mark countered with a simple “Love you too, bro.” and a thumbs-up towards the camera. He repeated the action to Jack but was then the picture of innocence by the time Tom turned to face him again. Tom was looking up at the pinata as if it had personally wronged him. “If I tap it with the bat will you just try hitting the thing?”

“ _Totally._ I’ll let you put the blindfold on me and everything.” Mark gave an enthusiastic nod.

Huffing softly, Tom stepped closer to the pinata and raised the stick. Abruptly, Mark shouting in his ear.

“Wow Tom, so good to see you finally got that massive stick out of your ass!!”

Jack _cackled_. “Tom, Tom, remember he’s the birthday princess! You can’t beat the birthday princess on his birthday! Wait until tomorrow!”

Tom focused a spine-chilling glower on Mark for a handful of seconds but then gave a long exhale from his mouth. His grip on the stick loosened and Tom waited until Mark’s own laughter had died down to snickers to emphatically shove the stick at him. “Turn around, birthday boy.”

Mark fumbled with the stick, but he was still smiling. Drag Tom _and_ avoid the consequences; talk about a win-win. As such, it would only be fair for Mark to abide by their agreement. He obediently turned around and removed both pairs of glasses. “Just watch the knot, please.” He made it sound sassy to cover up the fact he was warning Tom about his sensitive hair.

“Don’t forget: as the one blindfolding you, I get to spin you around too. Hope you can keep that cake down.” Tom was careful with the knot, though. He removed his hands from the area the moment the blindfold was set and immediately proceeded to spin Mark around. He didn’t really _force_ Mark, just led him in his blindness. By the time he was satisfied, Mark was swaying and near stumbling on his feet with dizziness. His hands clutched the stick while his mouth hung open; breaths heavy.

“Mark??” It was Tom’s voice in the darkness.

“....” Mark tried to speak in a hoarse, strained whisper but all that really came out was air.

“Mark?”

 _“Felix.”_ The word was still quiet, however it was forced out with such a desperate fervor it would be impossible to miss a second time. Mark was beginning to hyperventilate.

“Get the blindfold off! Mark, get it off, you can take it off, it’s okay.” That was Jack’s voice.

“ _Jack,_ turn off the camera! Mark. _Mark._ What’s wrong?? You gotta help me out here.” Tom’s voice again. “Oh my _fuck,_ the goddamn blindfold, _Mark._ ”

“Camera’s off, Mark, it’s okay, you’re okay. Take the blindfold off and sit down, just breathe, okay? Chica! Chica, c’mere girl!” Jack’s voice was calm, even as he called for Chica. “Mark, sit down, feel the grass, deep breaths in and out. It’s gonna be fine.”

Fine. Fine? _It was gonna be fine._ That's what Jack’s voice was saying. It also said he was okay; that it was okay. How could it be _fine_ and _okay_ when Mark was blind again?! He was in the dark; he couldn't see; just like in the room. In the room when they'd turn off the lights for what felt like days or keep him tied up and blindfolded just to make torturing him more “fun”. He was also disoriented from the spinning which was making it difficult for Mark to try and ground himself or control his rapid breathing. He didn't immediately scrape at the blindfold because, well, in the past he couldn't just _remove_ the darkness. (Or if he tried, like with a blindfold, he would be punished.)

“I’m right here, Mark. Tom’s on your other side. Here’s Chica. You’re surrounded by your family and friends. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Jack’s voice was still there. It hadn’t left him in the dark.

Darkness Mark could remove now. He could, right? Mark wasn't in the room, he was outside. He could feel the sun and wind on his skin; heard Chica whimpering in concern while the nearby river burbled in the distance. There were birds chirping and it created an odd counterpoint to Jack’s desperate reassurances. Tom had stopped talking, but Jack claimed he was still there. Tom was probably too nervous about saying the wrong thing again so he'd just left it up to Jack.

Slowly, Mark’s legs folded beneath him and he sunk down to the grass like Jack suggested. It was a good move. He immediately felt more grounded; both with his surroundings, and his emotions. The stick was long discarded in favor of clutching big fistfuls of the green stuff, feeling the texture and roots of the damp grass blades. He couldn’t do that in the room. He wasn’t _in_ the room; the room’s rules didn’t apply. He could… he could take it off. He could take the blindfold off, _it was okay._ Mark drew several trembling breaths before he could work up enough nerve to touch the blindfold. Chica was at his side by that point and licking at him with obvious concern. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see Jack, and Tom, and the garden.

He pulled off the blindfold and let it fall to the grass. Initially, Mark was a bit blinded by bright sunlight, but there was several feet of golden retriever in his face so it really didn’t matter. He knew everything would be blurry, so he just hugged the dog close and buried his face deep into her fur. She nosed affectionately at his hair with a soft whine and it was easier to regulate his breathing, with Chica there. Mark shuddered. His eyes were burning with the threat of tears because he wasn’t in that room, _they_ weren’t there and everything would be okay. He’d panicked over nothing. _It was okay._ “I-I’m okay… I’m okay….”

“Good, that’s good. We’re all okay here. Tom’s got your glasses, just to your right. Nobody’s hurt. Everything’s okay.” Jack kept talking as Mark calmed down; repeated the same reassurances over and over. “It’s okay, Mark. Everything happened as it was supposed to. You said the safe word, and everything stopped immediately, right?”

Mark focused on getting his breathing back in check. If he could do that, he would be golden. He took measured breaths while he listened to Jack talk and could hear Tom shuffling around. He sensed more than saw the extension of their arms. Jack offering a hug, probably; Tom his glasses. Blindly, he reached out to fumble for them, eventually taking the accessory and giving a hesitant nod against Chica’s fur. Jack was right about the stopping; there was no possible way Mark could have calmed down if he’d known he was still on camera. If he knew this was being captured in any way, even if they would delete the footage later. He peeked over Chica’s back with his glasses clenched tightly in his fist. “Sorry… I-I thought it would work. I thought I’d be-e fine….” He sniffled softly, though thankfully there were no tears. “...it’s so much ha-arder, in the dark….”

“Yeah, well, we hoped too. But it’s okay. We can whack the pinata without blindfolds, or just cut that bit out of the vlog entirely.” Jack waved a hand dismissively. “You didn’t get lost, Mark, that’s what counts. You were able to pull out of it. You keep getting better and better. Tom didn’t have a heart attack that time!”

Mark glanced at Tom, who had rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Tom….”

Tom immediately shook his head and waved a dismissive hand of his own. “Don’t. I’m fine, really. I’m glad you’re okay. You don’t have to apologize for something beyond your control. Besides, Jack is right. You _did_ control the aftermath. You came back. That takes a lot of strength, Mark.” Tom managed a small smile. “I’m really proud of you.”

Mark’s eyes started to sting again at that and he sniffled miserably. “ _Toooom,_ don’t say that, I’m a-already so emotional. You fucking asshole.” His lips wibbled, but he managed to distract all the feels by slipping on his glasses. The sight of two pink mustaches and Jack’s ridiculous getup made his face twitch with the threat of a smile.

“He might actually believe us now when we say this is more typical for you these days. You’re getting better, Mark.” Jack beamed at Mark, still wearing the cat mask on his head and the cape around his shoulders. “Want a goat-pkin to blow your nose?”

Jack cracked that stupid joke and Mark sputtered with abject indignation. “Jack, _no._ ”

“Did you really just say ‘goat-pkin’? Take that thing off your head. It’s cutting off circulation to your brain.” Tom deadpanned.

Jack sighed, pulling the cat mask off and then lunging at Tom to snap the elastic around his head. “HA, you have to wear it now! I’mma get you both some goat-pkins.” Jack bounced to his feet and headed to the table to grab a fistful of the goat-emblazoned napkins.

Tom outright _flailed_ and then landed on his ass with a surprised grunt. _“Jack!!”_ The name was a bit muffled by the thick paper now covering a majority of his face. He pulled the thing off and tossed it aside while Mark snickered in amusement. Tom sent a _look_ at his brother with half its usual heat. Mark was still hugging Chica, but now he had his chin tucked over the slant of her spine so he could watch them.

Jack returned and offered one of the napkins to Mark; waving another at Tom. “Look, see? Goats on napkins. Goat-napkins. Goat-pkins. It’s _genius._ Mark, tell him I’m a genius.”

Tom looked anything but humored by Jack’s cheerful explanation. Mark was plain exasperated but he used the napkin to blow at his nose anyway. Take that, goats. “You’re a certain sorta genius, that’s for sure. A real _special_ one, Jack.”

“Would it really be saying much if an idiot called someone a genius anyway?” Tom teased with a quirked brow. Mark choked out a half-chuckle and threw his used napkin at him in retaliation.

Jack crumpled up his goat-pkin and threw it at Tom too. “Aww, shut up! He’s practically an engineer! Them’s smarty-smarts! Feeling up to taking another whack at the pinata, Mark?” Jack asked. “Or do we want to shelve that idea? We could set it up again, without the blindfold at all. The viewers will never know the difference.”

Tom sighed. “I’ll even let you make that stupid joke again. About the stick up my ass. Little shit.”  
  
Mark giggled into Chica’s fur at that, but ended up shaking his head. “I think… I need a little break. From the camera. I don’t know if I can be in front of it again just yet. But… I still want to break the pinata. We can skip it for the vlog. But I want to do it.” He was going to beat that smug goat into submission come Hell or high water.

“Well, Markiplier, time to drag this stick out of the grass and show it what-for,” Jack said, picking up the stick and offering it to Mark. “Let’s get some aggression out. If you can’t break it in...five whacks, Tom and I play rock paper scissors to decide who gets the next crack at it. Sound good? And then maybe presents?”

Mark’s move to take the stick was hesitant and slow, but his confidence bolstered once it was gripped firmly in his hand. He looked up at the pinata as if it was taunting him and gave a stalwart nod. “I’m gonna beat its ass in three. Then we can stuff candy in our faces.” Then do a jig over its scattered, papery body parts but Mark would probably be the only one doing that. Maybe it _was_ for the best this bit was left out of the final cut.

Tom shook his head and stayed in the grass while Mark rose to his feet. “Seriously. What _is_ it with you and goats? You never hated them before. Or even particularly _disliked_ them, from what I knew. Did they invade the garden or something?”

“I suggested we get a goat instead of a lawnmower,” Jack told Tom while Mark approached the goat menacingly. “He seemed to take it as a slight on his manhood, and...well… Now I have a lovely garden. And apparently a lawnmower. But I keep threatening to get him goats. And he keeps quoting Titanic at me and… heh. It’s just become our thing? I guess? Goats? Also swans. They’re dangerous. Mark doesn’t believe me, but that’s really not a joke. Swans are some motherfucking scary ass shit, man. Do not mess with the swan.”

“...I think you two were left alone with each other for _way_ too long. Maybe it’s some new strain of cabin fever- cottage fever? Sounds about right. Hope I don’t catch it before I head home. They might quarantine me at the airport….”

“Tom, shut up and watch me beat the crap out of this stupid goat!” Mark called over his shoulder. Giving the stick a few practice swings, he stepped forward and launched the first attack. The narrow wood smacked into the side of the pinata’s body. Strips of paper flew off and the goat was sent swinging around wildly on its rope. Mark growled softly under his breath. “Eat it!!” Another thwack; some of the structure beneath crumpled. Chica was on her feet again, barking.

“I’m gonna wipe that smug look off your stupid papery goat face!!” Mark knew it was pretty silly to be taunting a pinata while he beat the poor thing senseless, but it felt _really_ ** _good._** Good in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time; something akin to what he’d get when practicing on his punching bag in the shed. Except this time, he had a real target to focus his aggressions on. The pinata wasn’t _them._ He’d never get the opportunity to do this to _them_ ; probably wouldn’t have the real heart to do it if given the chance. Mark was only learning to fight for _self-defense,_ not to attack people. Still, he was going to draw this out and enjoy the catharsis while it lasted. “Bet that one hurt! You’ll  be feeling it tomorrow… oh wait, there is no tomorrow for you! Only destruction!”

“Mark, you’re disturbing the neighbors! Just put it out of its misery already!”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Tom!!” It really was too bad they weren’t getting this on camera, but there would be plenty more hilarious footage for the fans to see. Private moments like this, even at a party meant to be shared, were good. A few rapid smacks later, the colorful goat finally submitted to its fate. The stick tore straight through it's crumpled middle, sending bits of cardboard and paper flying. Chica chased down the fallen half with loud, excited barking while Mark bent to triumphantly examine his sweet loot. He stared.

And stared.

“....Jack, you _fucking shitheaded asshole_ I cannot **_believe_** you would do this to me. On my own birthday. You sadistic _bastard._ ”

“Oh Christ, what is it? Am I gonna have to kick his… ass… for you… goats. Seriously.” Tom had gotten up to go see what the problem was and, of course, the grass was littered with goat-themed bits and bobbles. Candies, toys, little erasers and whistles and whatever else Jack could get his hands on. Both Fischbachs were flummoxed.

“GOAT PARTY!” Jack had thrown his hands in the air as the goats showered down, cackling maniacally.

They stared at Jack and he grinned. “Hey, I put candy in there too.” There were little boxes of Bean Boozled jelly beans (and chocolate and sherbert lemons and all kinds of other yummy treats...but mostly goats). “What? You guys honestly thought there’d be something else? It’s a _goat pinata._ At a _goat-themed party…_ ”

“I really need to just stop trying to understand how you two work.” Tom sighed with a shake of his head. He snatched up his pittance of candy and went after Chica. “Chica. Chica no, don’t eat that, c’mere…”

“Jack….” Mark slowly rose from his bent over position. Thankfully, he’d dropped the stick; vouching instead for several of the little bouncy balls. “I hope you realize… this means _war._ ” Whipping around, he chucked one of the balls at Jack’s prone form. He didn’t stop at one, though, and ran at Jack as he continued his onslaught. “I’m gonna get you for this you goat loving little leprechaun!!” He deepened and roughened his voice so his next reference would stick all the better. _“Get over here!”_

Jack yelped at the first ball, scrambling to his feet. “Oi, hey, _hey_ , you left me in charge, _what were you expecting_!?” He was laughing as he ran away from Mark, leading him on a chase and trying to fling playing cards like shurikens back at Mark. “No, no, ahhh!”

“I was expecting some _mercy_ on my friggin’ _birthday!!_ ” Mark countered. He was all too happy to chase Jack around the garden now that he had his stamina back. The cards flung his way, if they even managed to _reach_ him, did nothing. Meanwhile, the few balls he had gathered were certainly felt by a retreating Jack. He only had one left when the Irishman ducked behind a tree. “You think you can run, you think you can hide, but _nobody_ can escape **_me!_** ” Mark put on his Warfstache lisp again as he stalked towards Jack’s hiding spot. “Thought you could impersonate _me,_ eh? Thought you could just flaunt around my trademark ‘stache and get away with it? Prepare yourself, Mr. JackSepticEye! It’s time for your interview.”

“Noooo, not an interview, no, I’m not ready! I’m not ready for my close-up!”

“Ready or not, here I come!” A cheesy line, but _absolutely_ one Warfstache would use. Mark put on speed the last foot or so and grabbed at the tree trunk with his free hand. Its leverage allowed him to swing around and chuck the ball at Jack- whether he was retreating or not. “Heeeeeeere’s _Warfstache!!_ ”

Jack yelped and hit the ground belly-first. The ball sailed harmlessly over his head. Unfortunately for Tom, the spinning around the tree from both younger men had put him right in the path of Mark’s throw.

The bright green ball struck Tom in the shoulder and bounced off with its Super Springy! Core propelling it back through the air toward Mark. A golden blur rushed past Tom and leapt, snatching the rubber ball out of the air. Jack _oofed_ as one of Chica’s feet landed on his belly, but he was still laughing as he caught the golden retriever in a hug. “Chica! You saved us all!”

“Super Dog saves the day!!” Mark cheered alongside Jack. His qualms were all but forgiven after that joyous sequence of events. He bent down to scrub at Chica’s head and coo at her affectionately. “Good dog, best friend.”

Tom rubbed at his shoulder. He shuffled over to sit at the little table they were utilizing for various purposes throughout the party and munched on the candy he’d snagged. Mark and Jack joined him in a few minutes, and Jack proposed a rousing game of Bean Boozled now the goat pinata innards were up for grabs.

Somehow, Tom had never heard of Bean Boozled. Somehow, he also managed to _still_ not understand it by the time they all grew tired of jelly beans. Every single bean Jack and Mark tried to feed Tom turned out to be a good one.

Every bean Mark ate turned out bad.

Jack was getting a decent mix of good and bad, but after a string of good beans, he decided to try the brilliant idea of shoving a handful into his mouth all at once.

Thankfully, the cameras weren’t rolling to catch Jack spitting a multi-colored mouthful of jelly bean sludge into one of Mark’s bushes.

_“My bushes!!”_

“ _My tongue!_ ”

“My sanity.”

_“Borf!”_

They turned the camera on again for Mark’s presents; a huge mound of beautifully wrapped gifts of various sizes and shapes. They were almost entirely cheap gag gifts from toy stores. Mark ended up receiving Groucho glasses with waggling eyebrows, several squirt guns, a huge bucket of sidewalk chalk, a bag of Fuego chips, and so much more. There were a couple serious gifts, like a leather jacket from YouTube with playbutton inner trim, and of course a box of Lucky Charms cereal brought by Tom.

Mark didn’t even wait for a bowl. He cracked open that box and stuffed a handful of the sugary cereal directly into his mouth- on camera. Tom was disgusted. Jack just laughed while Chica licked up the fallen pieces from the grass.

Jack crumpled up the wrapping paper into a giant ball and threw it at Chica, laughing whenever she brought it back. When it grew too soggy to keep together, Jack caught up her paws instead, pulling her onto her hind legs and leading her in a dance around the garden. The long-suffering dog went along with it, used to such crazy behavior from her dad. Mark found the scene utterly endearing and picked up the camera again to record the pair. Jack stopped when he realized, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue at his fellow YouTuber.

A bit later, Mark excused himself from the shoot to use the bathroom. Rather than just relieving himself, Mark slipped into a few costume pieces he’d put together and snuck out into the garden via a window. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand so it was easy to sneak around behind Jack and Tom while they chatted. Calling upon his flexibility, Mark squeezed himself deep into the giant rhubarb plant beside the shed and hunkered down to wait. This was going to be _hilarious._

He could hear muffled voices as Jack and Tom approached his hiding spot but wasn’t able to make out the words just yet. When Mark felt they were close enough, he gave the surrounding leaves a good rustle. The footsteps halted.

“Did you see that??” Tom’s whisper was anything but quiet.

“Shhh… Wild Markiplurs can be _veeeery_ territorial, especially if they’re nesting. You can tell that this one is from all the little sprouts popping up. That’s how Markiplurs are made,” Jack was using an egregious Australian accent and it took all the willpower Mark had not to snort.

“Oh my fucking god….” Even Tom’s voice was full of exasperation. There was a few seconds pause before he spoke up again. “So? What are you waiting for, Crocodile SepticEye? Go check it out!” he hissed.

“When approaching a wild Markiplur, tread carefully and slowly. Do not make any sudden movements!” Mark could hear one set of footsteps creeping closer and grinned behind his cardboard mask. He waited until he could see bits of Jack’s clothes through the gaps in the leaves and then pounced.

A crudely made cardboard mask meant to emulate the face of a vicious badger- jagged teeth and all- confronted Jack as Mark leaped out of the plant. It made the Foxy mask he’d whipped up for the FNAF Musical look professional. He even had little cardboard cones on his fingers for claws. Really, it was the cacophony of screeches and snarls he made that could be considered scary. When it came to being abjectly creepy or terrifying, Mark had nailed it down to a science. He raised up his arms to make himself look as big as possible and chittered at Jack. He had absolutely _no clue_ what badgers were supposed to sound like and it was obvious.

Tom, having been in on the setup, gave a comical shout nonetheless for theatrical purposes. He made a show of jumping back with the camera. Chica, having been with them, dropped down and started barking up a storm at the commotion even as her tail eagerly wagged.

Jack screeched like a small child and jumped back, falling on his ass in a graceless tumble of limbs and cape. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” The fear didn’t last long. Soon he was giggling, though he stayed cowering on the ground, flinging his arms up dramatically to shield himself from the monster. “A wild Markiplur! Noooooo! It's gonna eat me! _Or worse!”_

“Noooo! Our brave and brilliant narrator with a questionable accent! How can we continue the series without you?!” Tom cried. Chica barked and bounded about the two “star actors”.

“Hello Mr. Narrator, my name is _Markiplur,_ and today I’m gonna get revenge for all your past goat transgressions!! Time to pay the badger!” None of that made sense- _at all._ Luckily, no one cared. Mark swooped in on the fallen Jack, but he didn’t eat him. (Or mate with him, as some fangirls might have hoped.) Instead, he crouched beside the Irishman and proceeded to tickle him with his cone claws.

Jack _howled_ at being tickled, thrashing beneath Mark. “ _Ahhh!_ No, no, ahhh, not the neck, not the belly, no, no!” His breathy protests were gasped out between huge bouts of laughter as he kicked at the ground.

Thankfully, Mark had never been tickle tortured; at least not in the room. Tom had provided his fair share when they were children, and then Mark’s friends were quick to take advantage into his later years, but that was all. It was nice being on the other side of the torment for once and Jack’s cries were interspersed with more than enough laughter to disperse any possibility of Mark being triggered by them. In any case, all of Mark’s attention was taken up by Jack; adorable and flustered as he rolled about in the grass. His heart had started doing weird things in his chest when Chica decided she wanted in on the action.

The golden retriever bowled into them both and began smothering Jack’s face with a flurry of licks. Her tail was wagging up a storm behind her as Mark tried to heave her off the poor Irishman. “Huhuhuh, Chica no, Chica, oh my god Chica no you’re gonna kill him, get over here! Tom! Quit laughing at our plight and come help us!”

“But I’m just the cameraman. I’m not supposed to interact with the show itself.”

“Raaawr!” Jack grabbed Chica, wrapping his arms around her furry sides and rolling over to pull her off her feet. “Rawr, puppers, you're not supposed to _help_ the Markiplur!” Jack was still laughing, his face soaked, mustache smeared half across his cheek as he struggled onto his knees. “God fuck, Mark, you're _terrifying_ like that! What are you even supposed to be, a swan?”

Chica continued nipping playfully at both boys as they got to their feet, but she didn’t try knocking them down again. Mark awkwardly slipped the mask up into his hair to reveal his flustered face and crooked glasses. Utilizing the cone claws for anything other than tickling and intimidation proved rather futile. “I’m supposed to be a _badger,_ you doof! Y’know, with the stripes and the claws and the _nasty, pointy little teeth._ ” He brought the claws up to his mouth and wiggled them to further cement the classic reference.

“And here, everyone, you can see the wild _Markiplur_ and the domesticated _SepticAyyye_ interacting with one another on relatively peaceful terms. Chica, our resident field dog, is keeping a close eye on both of them for any signs of possible aggression.” Tom drawled from his position.

“Ahhh, _now_ I see it! A badger wearing a mask!” Jack flung an arm over Chica's back, giggling and grinning up at him.

“What?! Are you saying I look like a badger, Jack? How can you stand to cuddle with me if that’s the case?” Mark scoffed, offended.

Tom stopped the recording and closed the camera’s viewing screen. “Well that’s gonna be cut out of the finished product.”

Jack cracked up again, slumping over against Chica's side. “Fuck, Mark, we can't put that online! We're having a hard enough time convincing people we have separate rooms!” He glanced up at Tom, a sheepish bent edging into his smile. “We _do_ have separate rooms when we don't have guests. We just don't _use_ them...but the internet doesn't understand nuances.”

Mark flushed. “Oops. I actually forgot we were on camera….” Or he at least figured Tom would have stopped recording by then. Good thing it wasn’t a live broadcast. He sent his perturbed brother an equally sheepish smile while he plucked off the cone claws.

Tom just sighed. “Well, I’m exhausted. Are we about done yet?”

Jack glanced at Mark, then turned a wicked grin up to the older Fischbach. “One more thing…”

A short while later, Mark and Jack were stomping around the table they’d been using. They were playing up the movements for laughs and trying to let the camera pick up on the sound; the camera being tucked beneath the tablecloth with Tom. He was filming another “terrified” scene for the vlog’s outro.

 _“Thooooomaaaaaas!”_ Mark’s abruptly chimed, his voice deep and rugged.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Jack thickened his Irish accent again, though he was a touch more intelligible than he had been in the original Tom intro. “Oh _Tommy-boy_! We want to _play_ with you…”

“ _Thoooomaaaas,_ come out and _plaaaa~aaaay!_ ” Mark sang. He decided stomping wasn’t enough and hopped his way around the table. The items still resting on its surface shook and trembled with every landing, probably creating an awful clatter underneath. Mark watched as Chica finally caved to her curiosity and stuck her nose beneath the tablecloth.

_“Borf!”_

Jack and Mark closed in on the table after her. “Oh _Tommy-boy_!” Jack sang. “We _found_ you!” He curled his fingers around the edge of the table while Mark did the same on the other side. In a swift, synchronized motion, they lifted the folding table up and away from Tom.

“We’ll make a YouTuber out of you yet, Thomas Fischbach!!” Mark jeered as Tom’s trembling form was revealed. He put on the creepiest face he could manage while his brother shakily swiped the camera from one aggressor to the other. Chica, having no idea what was going on, panted and wagged her tail happily.

Tom leaped to his feet and booked it; screaming exaggeratedly.

When the recording started up again (it would be bonus footage, for those that stuck around to the very end of the video), Mark was carrying the camera. He didn’t make any attempts to stabilize it as he ran. Actually, _all of them_ were running. They weren’t in the garden anymore, but near the riverbank. It would be impossible to tell if it was a lake, or river, or even just a pond in the video, but Tom was making a mad dash for it far up ahead while Jack, Mark and Chica chased him down.

**_“You’ll never take me alive!!!”_ **

_“Tom no, wait, we’re done!! It’s over! We’re sorry!!!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _saengil chukhahae_ = happy birthday  
>  _aesaekki_ = brat
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	65. 7/1: A Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark really should've known better.

The Markiplier Birthday Vlog had been a _rousing_ success, becoming one of Mark’s most popular videos overnight. Tom had gotten to hear the editing process as Mark and Jack fought over the mouse and howled in laughter at the footage Tom had caught without them realizing. The views, likes, and comments started pouring in the moment it was uploaded, and Jack had spent most of the evening reading them aloud to Mark and replying to as many as he could.

The next day had been much easier, with lazy mornings for the Fischbach brothers. Jack had gotten up early to cook a full Irish breakfast for Tom (and extra for Mark and himself). He recorded another couple of videos that day, letting Tom and Mark spend time together.

Mark hadn’t grasped just how much he missed his brother; his family. He loved living and spending time with Jack, but he was just one person Mark cared about. Laughing and playing around with Tom reminded Mark of the rest, all the people waiting for him across the ocean. He missed Bob and Wade, Tyler and Ethan, the Grumps and everyone else he’d grown close to via YouTube’s community. Mark was scared to interact with people again, but that didn’t mean he was against the idea.

The birthday vlog had also reignited his love for making stupid, silly videos. The waves of positive comments and fans welcoming him back with open arms encouraged him to act on his revived passions. Mark wrote down ideas for new vlogs, began looking into games he could record with a bit more gusto and even filmed a few snippets for Instagram with Tom. His community ate it up.

It had only been a few days, but Jack was looking a million times better than Mark had seen him since the convention. Tom claimed it was because he finally had some breathing room and Mark felt a pang of guilt, but had to agree. Jack could focus a bit more on himself for the duration of this week. He could get some rest and not spend every waking hour fretting over Mark’s condition because Tom was there. Tom was occupying almost half of Mark’s time and the setup proved helpful for all parties involved.

Even Chica was there, and she rarely left Mark’s side when not in her crate. She’d missed her daddy just as terribly as he’d missed her. Mark wouldn’t admit it, but he definitely spoiled her rotten. It was pleasant to have a gardening companion besides the occasional chatter of their neighbor.

Mark could collapse into bed with Jack at the end of the day with a light heart and a smile on his face. The rockiness of the first day was dispelled entirely from his mind; self-assured there was nothing else to fear. Halfway through the night, he naturally cuddled up with Jack and everything was right in the world.

Except it wasn’t. It distinctly wasn’t because there was an all too familiar bulge pressing into Mark’s thigh. Memories of waking up to dicks and erections and hands grabbing at him, holding him still, forcing him this way or that to take advantage of his body purely for pleasure flooded his mind. There were arms wrapped tight around him, clinging to him, and Mark wasn’t sure if he was sleeping anymore. He was unable to tell if the nightmare had become real, if it all was just a happy dream and now he was waking up back in that room. There was a hardness pressing against his thigh and he _wasn’t going to let_ ** _them,_** _not again, not ever again._

Mark screamed and wiggled his arms until they were free of the tight hold. He was shoving at the body pressed against him seconds later with a reckless, blind abandon. He screamed and pushed until his aggressor was out of arm’s reach. Mark didn’t stop shouting, even if it had never helped in the past, but gradually his volume wore down to a harsh muttering. _“No._ ** _No._** _Nonono, no, I don’t want it, I_ ** _don’t,_** _get away from me!! Get away! I don’t want it!!”_

Mark’s voice was rough with sleep and edging on a borderline sob with every quickfire breath. He clutched at the blankets, tugging them up as if covering his body would save him from some impending sexual onslaught. He scooted as close to the edge of his side as he could physically get and watched the now empty space on Jack’s side with a stricken expression. Brown eyes were opened wide and terrified but a little unfocused as his brain tried to process reality and memory at the same time. His chest heaved, his mouth hung open and his hair was wild from the pillow. He drew a breath that was barely deep enough.

**_“Don’t come any closer!!!”_ **

Mark was still cowering at his end of the bed and shouting at attackers only _he_ could see when the bedroom door was abruptly thrown open. There was a figure standing in the doorway; shouting and wielding something Mark couldn’t make out. He was so shocked by the sudden entrance he _actually_ stopped screaming. He might have stopped _breathing,_ too, while his exhausted and petrified mind attempted to process what had just happened.

There were voices and at least two figures moving around in the room, but Mark’s vision was blurry without his glasses and his mind was still trying to catch up with the events happening around him. He’d gotten over his shock and was a little less freaked out than before as the mystery person’s stunning entrance had thrown him off the path of a serious break down, but he was still having an anxiety attack. He curled up in the corner of the bed farthest from both figures and practically hid under the duvet while he shook with terrified confusion. Rooms and people were all mismatched in his perspective; mind still choked up with sleep and nightmares. He needed a better anchor than blankets to clutch onto.

“ _Aga. Aga,_ hush now, it’s all right. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’m here, I’m here. C’mon. Do you want me to hold you? I’ll scare away whatever’s making you cry.” That was Tom’s voice. Mark could recognize it now.

It had been a long, long time since Mark heard Tom use that tone. Longer still since he found himself in this position with his brother- yes, that was definitely Tom sitting on the edge of the bed. Mark recalled much older memories; curled up under his covers as a child, sniffling and crying, with Tom sitting next to him open and gentle and reassuring. The overwhelming sensations of relief and support were identical to those of years past. It didn’t matter if they were in a cottage in Ireland instead of their cozy Cincinnati home. Mark was distressed, Tom was there and it felt completely natural to topple forward into his brother’s arms.

Tom cradled a crying Mark to his chest; the younger man half in his lap. His arms fell into place as he continued to shush his brother. “Easy, easy. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Easy….” Mark inched closer so he could bury his face in Tom’s chest. The Markiplier T-shirt, one he’d given his brother years ago, soaked up his tears almost immediately. Tom began to gently rub Mark’s back. “That’s it, let it out. I’m here. Nothing’s going to get you. Hear that, monsters?! Back off!” Taunting the invisible beasts in Mark’s head was a tactic Tom had always used.

It played to surprising effect in the present situation as Mark’s brain tried to convince him he was under attack by the “monsters” from the room. In his mind’s eye, he could see Tom snarling at them and chasing them away, holding Mark close as if his arms were a shield from any and all harm. He snuggled closer, clinging to any bit of Tom he could reach as he cried. Tom hugged Mark and kneaded at his spine. “Shhh… shhh….”

Chica padded into the room and came up beside them with a concerned yip. Mark flinched from the sound, but then turned his head so he could see the golden blur on the floor and sniffled. “Ch-Chica-bica. Here girl, here b-baby….” Tom removed an arm from Mark so he could helpfully pat at the bed and Mark’s beloved companion didn’t need any further encouraging.

Ten seconds later had Chica curled up around Mark’s back with her head resting on his thigh. Tom was still hugging his brother tight from the front. Like that, Mark had his familial support surrounding him from all sides and he’d only ever felt so safe in Jack’s arms. Vaguely, he wondered where the man had went. He’d been so panicked and out of it when he first woke up that Mark couldn’t even recall the details. Something must have happened, because Jack wasn’t in the room with them and part of him was hurt by that absence. The rest happily settled into the support of his brother and his fluffy golden child.

It took nearly half an hour, but eventually the pair managed to help Mark calm down. The trembles settled, the sobs went quiet and the wetness at the front of Tom’s shirt went cold. There was a steadier rise and fall to Mark’s back as his breaths became more regular. Tom hugged Mark a bit closer. “There now. All the monsters are gone. You’re okay. You’re here. They’re not gonna come back, Mark.”

Mark’s only response was a soft whine.

“You okay?”

Mark whimpered, but it was coupled with a slight nod.

“...you wanna come out now?”

Mark gave an immediate head shake.

“Okay. That’s okay, Mark. You just stay there, and come out whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here. Chica’s here.”

Mark didn’t end up coming out, because at some point he fell back to sleep. He was slightly disturbed by a nudge, but he just gave a soft huff and another snore. The rude awakening coupled with an anxiety attack had utterly tired him out. He wouldn’t wake again until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> _aga_ = baby
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	66. 7/2: A Hard Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Jack have a much needed chat, until...

Waking up was surprisingly unstressful, all things considered. Mark pulled away first, when Chica got up and shook herself, then padded to the door and whined. As cozy as the bed was, when the pup needed to pee, everything else had to be put on hold. Mark had hoped he didn’t wake Jack, though he did contemplate a bit on Jack’s sudden appearance in the bed while he waited by the door for Chica.

He didn’t remember Jack returning last night, but he must have at some point. Of course, Jack would have done his best not to wake him up, either. He supposed he would just have to ask about the sporadic absence later. It was a first, and had left Mark unsettled. Finding Jack in the bed with him come morning served as a small comfort. Later, he joined Jack for a simple breakfast of cereal in the kitchen before Jack left him to go record his videos for the day. He never really worked up the nerve to ask about the night prior, and Tom didn’t rise until some time later.

The brothers watched a bit of Netflix while Tom indulged in his own bowl of cereal but eventually he abandoned Mark in the name of work as well. He had planned to get some panels drawn up while he was in Ireland and had been seriously neglecting that responsibility. Mark could see the guilt on Tom’s face for just leaving him to his own devices, but Mark waved his concerns off. He’d been keeping himself occupied during Jack’s recordings for weeks now.

Chica made it a lot easier and more fun, though. After a little more Netflix, Mark headed out into the garden as he was wont to do. Chica came along with him and they played together in the fair weather for what felt like hours. Mark was sure it had been far less than that when Jack came out to join them, but he relished every minute spent with his pup either way.

“Hey. Got time for a break?” Jack approached them and offered one of two mugs to Mark.

Mark happily accepted what turned out to be a cup of warm, sweet tea. It was a bit chilly compared to when they’d filmed his birthday vlog and the steaming mug was the perfect way to warm himself up. Playing around the garden with Chica only helped so much. “Thanks.” He blew gently at the surface and was preparing to take a sip when the question registered. Mark paused with the mug halfway to his mouth so he could look over at Jack. A slight furrow entered his brow, clearly showcasing his immediate concern and he lowered the mug.

“Uh, yeah. We can go sit under the willow tree, if you want. The grass isn’t too damp.” They should really get a bench or something, even if it was just one of those plastic knock-offs. Then again, curling the blades of grass in his fingers was one of Mark’s favorite parts about sitting beneath _their_ tree. He wanted to ask Jack if everything was okay, but he knew the Irishman would just brush him off until they were both settled in for the conversation itself. Mark hoped it wasn’t anything serious, yet some part of him had a distinct inkling as to what they were about to discuss.

Jack smiled at Mark, nodding along with his suggestion. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

They’d sat under this tree so many times they actually had _spots_. Jack settled into his, a little V of two roots cradling his hips, and leaned back against the trunk. He bent his legs up in front of him, watching Chica frolic around the yard.

Mark was stretched out languidly in his own chosen spot, which was obvious even from a distance because the grass there was always smushed down. Bits of black hair spotted the gnarled trunk from the countless times Mark used it as a headrest and in his spot there weren’t any prominent roots, but there was a part in the curtain of leaves that let in just the right amount of sunlight. Today it was too cloudy but Mark felt more comfortable sitting there nonetheless, especially with Jack beside him.

Jack took a sip of his tea. He sighed, switching hands on his mug. “So...sorry I didn’t bring this to you last night.”

Mark finally sipped at his own tea and gave a little hum. Of course Jack would be apologizing, he’d _always_ been there for Mark. Every night, every nightmare; Jack would be there at his door, or at their bedside, with a mug of steaming hot tea and a kind word. _Tom_ had been the one to soothe Mark’s anxieties in the wee hours of that morning and Jack hadn’t returned until sometime after Mark drifted off again. He never thought to ask Tom about it and now it seemed he’d get information from the source. “It’s okay…. Tom’s got experience with that sort of thing too. Just hasn’t done it in a decade or two…. And having Chica there did wonders. I got through it all right.” Mark paused to focus on the pleasant sensation of heat seeping into his fingers through the ceramic. “...but I was curious, about where you were. I mean, I’m sure you had a good reason, I just…. It was weird. That was the first time you weren’t….” He sighed. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just… disappointed, I guess. Which is stupid. Because you’re totally _not_ obligated to be there for me every hour of every day or night.”

“Yeah, I just...I was in the living room, wallowing in my own dark mood…” Jack picked at a flaw in the glaze on his mug, flicking his nail over the sharp spike. “I...um...I kinda triggered you last night. Unintentionally! I just…” He sighed, pulling his legs a little closer to his chest. “It’s...kinda really fucking embarrassing, Mark, but. Um. Thomas cornered me after he got you back to sleep, and he just...he can be really scary demanding. Not that I _wasn’t_ gonna tell you, because I know it’s gonna happen again if nothing changes, and that was just the worst nightmare I’d ever seen you have, and it wasn’t really a nightmare though.”

Jack picked at the glaze some more and took a gulp of his tea. “It’s just...with how we sleep, and how I...tend to cling. Um. Sometimes there are...you know. Reactions. At night. To dreams or whatever. Good dreams.” He grimaced, closing his eyes and ducking his head. “And I was clinging and you...felt it.” He coughed, clearing his throat.

“Did he intimidate you? Fuck, Jack, I’m sorry. I’ll go talk to him after this. He doesn’t really act like it most of the time but he can be stupidly protective of me when he wants to be. He shouldn’t be freaking you out over accidents.” Mark was still watching _Jack_ with concern, as if the topic wasn’t about him at all. He knew better than that- he _did,_ it was just simpler to focus on the guilt and regret Jack was experiencing than his own mixed emotions. Easier to plot out how he was going to tell Tom off for scaring his best friend than trying to come to grips with the pitfalls of their sleeping arrangement. However, he couldn’t put addressing the subject off forever and Jack was already uncomfortable enough using what limited terminology he could without being hamfisted about it.

Mark shifted, feeling equally uncomfortable. The tea did little to help the churning in his guts and he wasn’t sure if he could look at Jack or not. It might just put them _both_ at further unease. The details of his panic attack and the nightmare that triggered it were fuzzy in his memory but they happened, and they happened for a reason. “...is that why you never came back? Because you were dealing with, uh… _that?_ You were worried maybe you’d trigger me again?” Mark looked up at the swatches of Irish sky that peeked through the veil of tiny leaves. “I didn’t… I didn’t even really know what happened, except that I was scared. And thought I was being attacked again. That _they_ were there. At first I was panicking too much to even see what was going on around me. But then Tom showed up, and Chica, and then I started wondering where you were…. I didn’t even think of the fact you might’ve been a cause….” Mark had just wanted his living security blanket back; the one person in the world who knew how to handle him the best.

“He didn’t _intimidate_ me, he just...really wanted to know why the fuck I’d just left him alone to calm you down.” Jack took a sip of his tea. “If he _hadn’t_ been there, Mark, I wouldn’t have left you to deal with that alone. I would’ve...powered through, somehow. But he was there, and it was just...easier. To leave.”

Jack leaned forward against his knees. “To be honest...I’m not entirely sure _what_ he wanted. We talked a bit about you and I...going back to separate beds. You have Chica here now, so you wouldn’t have to sleep alone. And I...Mark, it’s going to happen again. It’s not something I can control. I honestly thought it would happen a lot sooner. Maybe...maybe we should go back to separate beds, after Tom leaves.”

Mark’s grip tightened on his mug and he frowned down at the murky brown liquid within. Admittedly, that was _exactly_ what he saw coming once Jack broached the topic. It was the same subject they’d argued over multiple times in the past; the one Tom had unintentionally triggered him with on his very first day in Ireland. It always came back to them sharing a bed and the infuriating part was Mark could completely understand and sympathize with the arguments _against_ it.

That didn’t make him okay with separating from Jack. The mere thought set his vertebrae to going rigid and his stomach dropping. Mentally replacing Chica with Jack was a small comfort because all his beloved pup could do was cuddle with him. Hell, she couldn’t even cuddle _back._ Just lay there and let Mark bury her with affection, which was perfectly wonderful in its own right but lacking so much more that sharing a bed with Jack provided. Just thinking about going a full night without Jack- waking up in the morning without his smile and his bright blue eyes- gave him a pre-emptive sensation of _emptiness._ He’d grown accustomed to sleeping with Jack and maybe that was a bad thing, but he _didn’t care._ Mark pulled his knees up and got a hint of stubbornness on his face. “I can get over it.” He stated resolutely. “We can work past it, Jack, just like we do with everything else. Re-erect the pillow wall if we have to. Nights go so much _better_ when we’re together. You can’t deny that. We’ve finally been getting enough rest and I just _know_ splitting into different rooms again is gonna change that. Do you really want to go back to sleepless nights?” Or passing out in Mark’s bed, which would completely nullify splitting up in the first place.

“No. No, Mark, I… I _like_ sharing a bed with you.” Jack ran his thumb over the handle of his mug. “And I like...I like the mornings when I wake up and you’re still there. And I don’t... _we_ don’t have to worry so much about your triggers, because the day hasn’t started and I can just hug you like you need. And I know we’ve both been saner since we’ve started sharing a bed. But Mark, this wasn’t… this wasn’t a little panic, like the first time. This was the _worst attack I’ve seen_. And I’ve been with you since day one...and it was my fault.”

Jack closed his eyes and shivered. “I mean, I know it’s not the worst attack you’ve had. But it’s not...it’s not something you can just power through so easily. And it’s not something I can avoid. I mean...I think it’s _because_ I’ve been sleeping better that it happened at all. I’m not so exhausted, and so… things happen.” He pulled one leg even tighter against his chest.

“I don’t know what to do, Mark. I don’t _want_ to go back to separate rooms--and don’t tell Tom that--but I know I _can’t_ trigger you like that again. I couldn’t...I don’t know if I’d be able to forgive myself if I did.”

How could Mark tell Jack he _liked_ sleeping with him too? As in, more than just because it stopped the nightmares? It felt awkward now, after Jack had admitted the same. Like he’d be breaking some invisible friend code if he made things mutual. Mark wholeheartedly agreed with the points Jack ticked off but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What would Jack think? What if he thought it was proof Mark was getting too attached? It was a snag Mark would carry for the rest of his life. There was always that risk of underlying causes, issues; possible negative mental connotations for his words or actions whereas if _Jack_ confessed something, it could easily be taken at face value. It sort of made Mark feel like he was under a microscope.

“I’m getting better at dealing with attacks, though. If I wasn’t, I don’t know if Tom could’ve helped me so easily. I don’t think I could’ve even stayed in the bed like I was. I probably would have tried running out of the room, or hiding in the closet. Like I did that first day.” Mark wasn’t sure if he was arguing just for the sake of this one issue, or to defend the progress he’d made. He might have been trying to convince himself of his improvement as much as he was Jack. He squeezed at his mug. “I just… that was a special case. I panicked. I only got aggressive because you were clinging to me. I don’t… you know that’s how I react, if I’m breaking down and someone tries to touch me. If we put up the pillow wall again, even if you get a… it won’t be such a huge issue.” Probably. Maybe. Mark might have just been grasping at straws by that point.

“I don’t care if it makes me sound like a big baby, or like I’m becoming dependent. I _don’t._ Everything went uphill once we stopped beating around the bush and just shared a room. Fewer nightmares for both of us. No more waking up in the middle of the night. No more passing out in my bed. No more me, jolting awake and so scared I almost puke, and pacing around my bedroom waiting for the one reassurance I had here. Chica’s great. Having Chica here is fucking _awesome,_ Jack, but for a long time I only had you. And I don’t know if I’m ready to give that up just yet. I don’t think you are, either. I don’t care what Tom thinks or says. He doesn’t know what we’ve been going through for months. Only we do. And we’ve always found solutions to these kinds of problems before. I know we can do it again- I _have_ to. Because I know, if you go sleep on the couch again tonight, I’m going to panic. And I know, if I move back to my room once Tom is gone, I’m going to wake up in a cold sweat thinking I’m _back there_ again. And _I_ can’t do _that,_ Jack. Not when I’ve been feeling so much better. Please.”  

“Mark, I’m not…” Jack reached over, resting his fingers lightly on Mark’s wrist. “I’m not going to do anything that’ll set you back. Not intentionally. I promised you _anything_ you needed to keep improving. I meant that. I still do. We can...the pillow wall seemed to work. I didn’t manage to break through it to cling to you. Mostly.” He looked back at his tea.

Mark stared down at the hand on his wrist long after Jack had finished speaking. Really, he was relieved Jack agreed with his idea. Anything was better than splitting up again, yet something about the way Jack phrased it made him feel ill at ease, as if Jack wasn’t being entirely honest with him about his opinion on the matter. Mark knew Jack wouldn’t lie to him. He figured he wouldn’t be uncomfortable with the pillow wall, as it could allow them to stay together. There wasn’t anything for Jack to be _upset about_ besides maybe the lack of cuddles. Was that why Jack looked so disappointed?

He’d stolen a glance or two at his housemate and Jack’s expression was a bit soured, like he’d forcefully swallowed down a bitter pill. He was obviously trying to hide it behind a veil of relief and acceptance but Mark knew better. They couldn’t hide much of anything from each other anymore. Still comforted, but now a little concerned, Mark released one hand from his mug so he could place it over top of Jack’s. He squeezed at the slender digits and finally locked the other with his gaze. “We’ll try it. And see how it goes. Maybe, after a little while, we can go back to how it’s been. Without the barrier. I _am_ getting better, Jack. And if it means both of us being more comfortable, I plan to _keep_ getting better.”

Jack stared at Mark’s hand on his in silence before looking up at him. He licked his lips. “You just like snuggling with me,” he said, voice light and teasing. “You’ve realized the community knew what they were talking about, that Jackaboy hugs are best hugs.”

Mark _should_ have immediately scoffed at the teasing accusation and quipped some Septiplier joke, or countered Jack's claim with one of his own. That's what Mark _would_ have done, before everything.  
  
Instead, a bit of pink trickled onto his cheeks and brightened the tips of his ears. He had a split second expression of "oh shit, I've been caught/called out", like a cat with its paw in the fish tank. Mark was just too expressive and emotive for his own good. When he did scoff, it was delayed; not quite so effective. He squeezed at Jack's fingers once more before pulling his hand away and looking "scornfully" off to the side.  
  
"Well I never said you weren't a good hugger. Though I'm better, of course. That just goes without saying. Maybe I just like having a portable heater next to me. For all I know, your Irish leprechaun luck could be rubbing off." It was a little too rushed; a little too thrown together. Not like his normal comebacks or jokes that would fly from his mouth before he could consider the consequences. The tips of his ears were still pink.

“Mark…” Jack squeezed Mark’s wrist gently. “Please don’t forget I’ve gotten _really_ good at reading you over the past couple of months. And I’m not...it’s really hard to actually offend me, or upset me. I just...all things being equal, if you had absolutely no problems sleeping on your own, in your own room, and so did I, and the only thing sleeping in my bed had going for it was that...I was there...would you still want to?” Jack’s ears were pink now too.

Mark’s face fell. God damn it, he really should have known better by now. Of course Jack would see through his paper thin efforts to hide the moment of sheer honesty via his expression. Just living with someone for a prolonged period could give insights into their various tells and possibly even their psyche, but they’d been doing far more than just living together. They’d both seen each other at their most vulnerable and raw- especially Jack. He’d probably learned how to read Mark from the videos alone and the thought made his heart sink into his stomach while he curled a bit inwards on himself. At least Jack was the only person he _really_ had no privacy with. Oddly enough, Mark was semi-okay with that.

His face had regained some more of the pink color as shame and guilt coiled in his chest; he felt bad. Mark didn’t like misleading _anyone._ After everything they’d been through together, he _really_ didn’t like misleading Jack but how could he be honest when he wasn’t quite sure about the truth himself? Mark didn’t know _what_ he was feeling. Something more than just platonic, probably. Did that make him gay? Was he attracted to Jack? Would Jack even have a slim chance of reciprocating if Mark said that? Jack wasn’t gay. At least, he’d never given Mark any inclination to think so. He’d only ever had girlfriends. On top of it all, if Mark _did_ say anything, Jack would likely just think it was the trauma talking. That he was experiencing some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, like Tom said. The thought made his stomach clench. He wasn’t. He _wasn’t._ He would know if he was. Right?

It was a chaotically destructive thought process that played itself out on his face and in slightly narrowed brown eyes. It was a silent window into Mark’s mind without any context for Jack to follow were he to look back. Mark curled further into himself as a response to his rising discomfort. He pulled his legs up to his chest with only their joined hands and the mug cradled between them but he didn’t let go of Jack’s hand. He also didn’t _look_ at Jack, just stared at his knees as he tried to sift through his mess of feelings and verbalize something comprehensible from the results. It was a long time before he managed to speak. “...I’d want to.” He couldn’t lie to Jack. Literally, because the other could read him like a book, and also simply because he didn’t _want_ to.

Jack squeezed Mark’s wrist again. “Good,” he said quietly. “ _Good_ , because...because I’d want to too.

“Tom… Tom said he was gonna talk to you about the whole bed thing. He was afraid, worried that you were...letting emotions confuse things. But… it’s more complicated than that. I know you _need_ company at night. I just… I dunno. I didn’t want that to be an excuse for only one of us?”

Mark glanced over at Jack and wished he could say he was surprised the feeling happened to be mutual, but he wasn’t. It was obvious from the first night Jack thoroughly enjoyed sharing a bed with him. Maybe even before then, when Jack had passed out in Mark’s bed. He just had a happier glow about him after their morning cuddle sessions like some neglected part of his needs was finally being fulfilled. Mark could sympathize, but what did that _mean?_ For their relationship? Was it really just full blown platonic love or did it signify something _else?_ Mark felt like his brain was running in circles and he would have rucked fingers through his hair by now if Jack didn’t have such a hold on his hands.

He glanced towards the window. Tom better not have been spying on them. Not that he could see _much_ with the distance and the willow branches in the way, but still. He should know Mark didn’t appreciate being watched without his explicit consent. He looked back to Jack and tried not to dwell on the idea. “My emotions _are_ confusing. It’s really damn irritating but I’m trying to sort it all out. And yeah, maybe right now I _do_ need company. Someone. But even if I get better and don’t need it anymore I want… I _like_ staying with you. Don’t let my messed up emotions give you any other ideas. Don’t let _Tom_ give you any stupid ideas god damn I wish he’d talk to me before throwing stuff like this at you. I know our first private conversation went down in a fiery ball of _death_ but that doesn’t mean we should just not talk about stuff anymore.”

“Tom’s ideas _are_ stupid, and your emotions aren’t the only confusing ones around here.” Jack gave a crooked smile and a shrug. “I like staying with you too. Not just because you give me someone to cling to at night. And that’s...I didn’t want you sleeping in my bed because you needed to, and me letting you sleep in my bed because I wanted you to. Does that make sense? Cause that’s...that’s just taking advantage of you in a different way. Preying on your vulnerability, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t _ever_ want to do that.”

“I… think so?? Kind of?” Mark’s tone made it clear he was still questioning _himself_ on exactly what Jack had meant, but he felt like he got the gist of it. The important part, anyway. Jack was basically saying he’d been worried he was taking advantage of Mark’s need for a security blanket and Mark was quick to shake his head. “That’s not the case at all, Jack. I promise. I’m the one who pushed for it, remember? Much as I needed it, I _wanted_ it too.” He still did. “If it was just a need I could’ve… we could’ve figured something else out. But I didn’t want to.” He still didn’t. “If anything, sometimes I… I felt like _I_ was taking advantage of _you._ Of how much you wanted to help me and make me feel better. Like… like I was just using you, for that. And I hated it.” Learning Jack was just as enthusiastic about sharing a bed with Mark did wonders for that guilty feeling.

Jack continued, “Just...actually _living_ with you, instead of just chatting over the internet, it’s...changed things. I know you a _lot_ better than I ever did before, and you probably know me just as well now. It’s...weird. I’ve never… aside from Signe, I’ve never been this close to anyone I lived with. My roommates from before, when I was first starting out… I mean, I _liked_ them well enough, but we weren’t… _close._ ”

Mark uncurled some as the initially uncomfortable topic drifted to slightly safer waters. His tea was all but forgotten in his hands; too busy holding Jack’s and stroking at his skin with a thumb. Mark wasn’t entirely sure which of them he was trying to reassure with the gesture. “I’ve gotten close with roommates in the past, but… I mean, I never shared a bed with them. Unless we all just passed out in a heap of limbs and empty beer cans or bottles. I never had serious conversations with them like this, or… or held them so close when they cried. Had them pull me back from darker thoughts. I’ve never been this close to anyone outside my own family before- not even Bob or Wade. Who I’ve known _forever._ It’s… we’ve gotten really close, Jack. And I needed that. I don’t regret it.”

“This whole nightmare’s had at least one positive side, then,” Jack said quietly. “I mean, I could’ve gone my whole life just being your friend and not being so…” He hesitated, then closed his eyes. “ _Intimate_ , for lack of a better description. But...I’m sorta glad that we’ve been able to. I don’t… you’ve seen my vlogs, whenever I come back from a convention, and it’s all _Oh my god I can’t believe these guys consider me their friend!_ It’s not so much disbelief with you anymore. In a good way.”

“You _are_ the positive side, Jack.” The words tumbled out of Mark’s mouth without thinking, as he was wont to do. His mouth immediately snapped shut and he looked away; abashed. He cleared his throat and tried to move on with what Jack was saying. Hopefully, if he was lucky, Jack had been too wrapped up in working out his own thoughts and feelings to catch the slip. “I’m glad your stance has changed. It’s just like we always tell our fans: we’re real, normal people. We get put on these pedestals all the time as icons or celebrities but it’s mostly smoke and mirrors. You’re just a normal dude, and I’m just a normal dude. And together we’re two normal dudes being stupid and silly on camera. Besides, you’ve surpassed me by now. It’d just be wrong for you to still look up to me….” Mark was getting his community back, slowly but surely. However, the damage was done, and there’d be no reversing it. Only recovery- just like his personal life.

Part of that recovery was… was going home. He _needed_ to go home, and not just because it would be illegal for him to stay after his medical visa ended. _Everything_ Mark had known and loved before the Ship Sinker was in the States. His house, his family, his friends; all of his equipment and personal mementos they hadn’t bothered shipping to Ireland. Chica would probably be getting a little homesick herself, in a week or two. At the very least, Mark needed to go home so he could tie up loose ends and take care of things that had been left neglected during his extended absence. He had to visit his moms. Bob and Wade, probably. Maybe the Grumps too. Tyler and Ethan. So many people were waiting for him to come home.

Jack shook his head. “Of course, that has a downside too.” Jack smoothed his own thumb over the skin on Mark’s wrist, looking at their clasped hands. “You’re getting better every day. Stronger. There’s hardly a rasp at all to your voice. You’re going to have to go back home someday, and I… I’m gonna miss you more than ever now.”

Their little cottage by the river had become Mark’s home too. _Jack_ had become home. Mark was adamantly avoiding the inevitable and tried his best not to think about it too much but Jack ripped the metaphorical band-aid right off to leave Mark reeling from the (emotional) pain. His grip on Jack’s fingers tightened and he might have, subtly, scooted a little closer in the grass. He didn’t look at Jack, because if he looked at Jack he was going to tear up, Mark just knew it. His voice was strained enough when he mustered up the resolve to reply. “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Jack. We have to try visiting more often. Even if it means me coming to Ireland. I don’t want to go a whole year before seeing you again. And I don’t want our only time spent together to be these brief moments during conventions…. We have to figure something out. And _no,_ that is _not_ the trauma talking.” That was all Mark; all of it.

Jack looked up at Mark’s face as he gave a subtle sniff. “The trans-Atlantic flight fucking _sucks_. And prepping your channel for a trip long enough to make it worthwhile…” A tear escaped the corner of his eye, but it hadn’t fallen and rolled down his cheek yet. Jack set his mug aside. “It’s not… I _want_ to visit you more. And I want you to visit me. But it’s not as easy as just saying it, and it’ll...it’ll wear on us, after a while. And I… I’m not really the best at maintaining friendships. In case you haven’t noticed by my happenin’ social life.”

A furrow set itself in Mark's brow. "I know it's gonna be hard. I've been dealing with cross-country friends for years now. And maybe it's not the same as living a whole ocean and landmass away..." There was a new resolve in his tone as he stretched out his legs and sat up. He pulled away from Jack's hand just long enough to set his own cold mug of half-finished tea aside, then he grabbed at Jack's hand again and gave it a determined squeeze. He pushed himself a little closer with his free one and stared Jack's teary-eyed face down as if to showcase how serious he was being. "I don't care. I don't care if it means taking my video production more seriously, or pushing through long flights, or dealing with waves of jet lag. _I don't care._  
  
"My schedule's always been sporadic anyway. Especially when I tell the community I'm visiting with friends. We could even film some stuff when we're together to make up for it. I could use the time on the flights to do other stuff for my channel; check up on social media and the fans. I was... I was starting to drift away from them even before the convention happened. It'll give me a chance to really reconnect after everything. I can do it." Mark gave Jack's hand another squeeze, and his expression softened a little. He wished he had a tissue to give Jack.  
  
At a loss, his brain decided "fuck it" and he reached out with his free hand. His thumb gently rubbed away the tear beginning to slip down the swell of Jack's cheek bone; knuckles brushing stubble in the process. His heart gave another dull ache. Mark resisted the urge to cradle that heartbroken face and instead dropped the hand to Jack's shoulder: friend territory, _safe_ territory. He tried to smile for him. "We can make it work, Jack. Just like everything else. We've conquered obstacles bigger than this and I'm not gonna let you hide away from me. Just ask Bob and Wade. I'm like a fungus. Once you get me, I'm never going away."

Jack's eyes went wide as he broke the lock of their gazes, their fingers lacing together almost automatically. He took a deep breath through his nose and his eyes shifted back up while he squeezed Mark's hand. "We're not going to convince the communities at all that we aren't hiding something deeper from them," he whispered.

"Are we?" Mark was directing the question more at Jack, but really it should be taken by both of them. They were _both_ hiding something deeper which was precisely the reason their respective communities would never buy they weren't. Mark's gaze faltered and dropped along with the hand on Jack's shoulder. The resolve he'd built up to keep strong ties with Jack faded in light of the new- but related- topic. His nerves shone through in expressive eyes and a worried frown and fingers clenching into grass. "I mean. It doesn't really matter, one way or another. They never seemed to believe us to begin with. Just let them think what they want. Most of its harmless, anyway." Mark had realized the depth of his question and was trying to detour the conversation away from it.

"I don't know." Jack's voice was barely audible, rare for JackSepticEye. Jack retreated when Mark pulled back, twisting his hands together. "Mark, I...I don't know anymore."

Mark fiddled with the blades of grass between his fingers. His gaze kept flicking around their little haven beneath the willow branches; it never strayed to Jack for very long. The atmosphere had grown tense and awkward in a way it never did in their safe space and Mark hated it. He couldn’t stand the fact it was so hard for them to acknowledge the metaphorical elephant in the room and get this giant weight off their chests, for better or worse. If only to clear the air between them and make things simple again.

He drew a soft breath through his lips. “...Jack, I think I might… do you… Look, it’s… _fuck._ Jack. I-”

Whatever Mark was trying to say dropped instantly to the wayside as Chica’s frightened yip struck through the garden. Mark was tearing himself away from Jack without hesitation and stumbling to his feet. “Chica?!” He’d barely pushed through the branches before his beloved pup was barreling past him, nearly bowling him over in the process. “Chica, what the f- _oh my god Jack!!_ ”

“Chica, Chica, what’s…”

There was the meanest looking badger imaginable scampering initially after Chica, but then proceeded to shift targets- to Mark. _“Oh shit oh shit OH SHIT FUCK_ ** _FUCKJACK!!!_** _”_ Mark yelped much like his dog had as he turned heel and ran. Forget all the jokes about fighting badgers, that thing was _scary_ and had _teeth._ ** _So many teeth what the fuck, Ireland._** “GET THE STICK GET THE STICK!!!!”

Jack started to laugh. “Holy _fuck_ , Mark! Of all the people to _actually_ get attacked by a badger!”

“JACK QUIT LAUGHING AND _HELP ME!!_ ”

It was Jack’s turn to yip as the badger turned away from him and started toward the Irishman. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, still laughing. “Mark, Mark, it’s okay, it’s not as fast as us, probably just a momma or something, get Chica inside! She might have disturbed her burrow with babies or something, just get her inside. Here badger! Heeeeere badger badger badger, come after Jackaboy, that’s a good scary badger!”

Mark could _not_ believe he was actually dodging a badger in their garden. He’d been through it dozens of times and never seen a single sign of the furry inhabitant. Apparently, Chica had stuck her nose somewhere Mark couldn’t reach. She was quite helpfully barking at the badger from several yards away; no one ever said she was a brave pup. “Jack I won’t forget your noble sacrifice! I’ll be sure to tell your community you died for a good cause,” Mark spouted in relief as Jack lured away the animal. Admittedly, now that he wasn’t the one being chased, it _was_ kind of humorous to watch.

Chica was looking as if she might try going after the badger again. He quickly took Jack’s advice and jogged over to her. “Chica! Chica-bica, c’mon baby girl, c’mon puppy, let’s get inside where it’s safe. Jack’s gonna be okay. He’ll be okay, just c’mon. ‘Atta girl….” Mark managed to usher his pet in through the back door where a very concerned Tom was waiting.

“What the Hell is going on?? I heard you screaming and Chica barking-”

“There’s a monster outside, Tom!! A horrible, fuzzy, sharp-toothed monstrosity and it’s chasing down Jack right now!”

“...a what-”

“No time for questions!! Go be a big brother and help Jack before it _eats him or something!!_ ”

Tom didn’t have much choice in the matter as he was ushered out the door by Mark. Chica, feeling braver within the safety of four walls, continued to bark at the badger from the nearby window. Tom sputtered and nearly tripped his way into the garden, looking around. “Jack?? Jack! Mark says there’s something trying to eat you should I call the cops-”

“I’m gonna go get the stick!!!!”

Jack was shouting something outside and laughing, but then he was sprinting back to the cottage. “Just… Mark, _no_! No sticks! We do not attack the wildlife! Jesus, it’s like you’ve never seen anything bigger than a squirrel!”

Jack made sure everyone was inside before closing the door tightly. “It’s _just_ a badger, and probably a momma badger, _with babies_ , that Chica startled. We’re not gonna hit her with sticks, we’re gonna let her _calm down and go home._ No going in the back garden for a while, okay? _No sticks, Mark_!”

Tom had, thankfully, gotten back inside once he realized it was _just_ a badger. Mark proceeded to duck behind his older brother with stick in hand and eyes narrowed towards the door. He made no moves to go back out, but he looked like he was ready for a bloody battle to the death.

With the badger.

“... _fine._ No sticks. But if she puts one nasty claw on our tatertots then the kiddy gloves are coming off.”

The sound of Tom slapping his palm against his forehead was audible throughout the cottage.

Jack smiled at patted Mark’s shoulder. “I’m sure the tatertots will be fine. She’ll probably just eat fish or something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	67. 7/6: Secret Setting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark considers taking another step.

The rest of the week had been mostly uneventful- at least, in comparison to the first half. They all managed to locate the badger’s burrow in the garden- it was behind the shed- and Mark put up a bit of a stick barrier to prevent Chica from digging around in there again. The golden retriever seemed quite content with letting sleeping badgers lie, however.

Sometimes, the three young men would gather together for video games or to watch a movie. One unusually warm night Mark even dragged them both out to do a little stargazing. He’d ended up passing out in the grass so Jack and Tom just brought out some pillows and blankets to make a comfortable nest. Neither of them dared to move or wake him and with Chica there to serve as a living space heater they all slept surprisingly well. Mark had woke first, like always, and snapped a picture of the adorable scene. It was one of his newest cherished memories.

Otherwise, though, Mark either tended to pair off with Jack or Tom. It most often depended on who was _working_ at the time. Chica was never very far behind and Mark treasured every spare moment he had with his brother; it was unknown when he’d get to see him again. All in all, it served to be a nice few days to wind down from the mega vlog he’d done for his birthday.

Tom had called up a taxi to take him to the airport on the day he was leaving, since neither Mark or Jack could drive him. His bags were lighter without needing to carry some Chica essentials along. His expression was too. The week with Mark had done Tom just as much good. Their goodbyes started out stiff as everyone tried to keep it together, but inevitably devolved into a sappy, tearful mess. Mark let Tom hug him, and he hugged back equally hard. He promised he’d be coming home soon. Tom knew it was a shaky promise, but he accepted it anyway. He also made sure to shake hands with Jack before he left. The look conveyed by deep brown eyes spoke for itself. Tom might not be in the house anymore, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop keeping tabs on them both.

He left, and after a day or two of re-adjusting things had gone back to normal for the cottage’s inhabitants. The addition of Chica didn’t change up Mark and Jack’s dynamic all that much. Most nights, she stayed in her crate while the two men continued to share Jack’s bed. The pillow wall was in full effect and doing the trick; Jack hadn’t triggered Mark since that unfortunate morning. It was an unpleasant barrier between them and what they wanted, but they were finally beginning to pull it down- one pillow at a time. It was easier without Tom lingering only a few rooms away.

They’d also gone back to their normal routines. As the sky began its shift into fiery hues of orange and yellow with the sun’s dying light, Mark and Jack headed out on a jog with Chica in tow. Jack had leashed her for Mark, and was the one holding onto it as they went. Mark was too worried touching the accessory would trigger him, especially since they were outside the safety of the cottage.

Yet it was nice, being outside and _not_ in their garden for once. Mark had gradually been getting his taste for freedom back after Tom’s visit. Fresh air in his lungs, a cool breeze tickling at his dark hair and the light burn of muscles still working to reform made him feel _alive._ Having Jack there alongside him was a bonus and a necessity. He shot the Irishman a small smile as they rounded a corner, sticking to the sidewalk instead of any dirt paths. It felt safer. “We should go to that one spot we found a few days ago; remember? With the awesome view of the river? I wanna see the sunset.”

Jack nodded along to Mark’s suggestion. “Yeah, let’s do that. Wonder if the ducks’ll still be there. We should bring some old bread next time if they are.” The ducks wouldn’t be scared off by Chica. If anything, Chica would be scared by the intimidating herd of waterfowl. Jack gave her leash a little tug, encouraging her to turn right with them as they headed for the river.

“I fuckin’ hate running,” Jack grumbled as they slowed down by the river bank. He stopped to let Chica sniff a tree, rubbing at his neck. “Seriously, how the fuck do I not sweat like normal people!?”

Mark gave a little chuckle as they slowed down; both to catch their breath and appreciate the stunning view. They weren’t at the grassy knoll they’d discovered just yet, but even from the flat river bank the sun shone off dark waters to make them glisten. Mark had dubbed the sight “pretty” on more than one occasion yet always found his gaze drifting back to Jack’s face. He tried really hard not to dwell on the connotations of that habit too much.

“It must be because you’re a leprechaun. I’ve never heard of leprechauns sweating but they do get all red when they’re hot and bothered. So maybe it’s proof of your secret mythical heritage! See? We’re making real _strides_ here, Jack. Besides, it’s good for you! You’ve got way more muscle tone in your legs now.” Mark beamed at Jack with his eyes and face more than his mouth, but the effect was still there. He didn’t bother admitting to his pun outright and instead stretched out a bit while they walked. He twisted his back and torso, pulling at his shoulders and elbows with a content hum. The long-sleeved shirt didn’t show off much skin, but it was fitness wear, which meant it hugged Mark’s recovering muscles in all the right places while they flexed.

Jack groaned, mock-smacking Mark upside the head (without actually making contact or coming anywhere near to making contact, just swatted his hand vaguely in Mark’s general direction). “Ugh! If I wanted puns, Markiplier, I would have invited Lord Minion out here! C’mon, Chica! C’mon, we’ll sit down soon. Don’t...okay, fine, you can pee on that tree.”

Mark’s expression was smug. “Baby steps, Jack. Gotta start somewhere before I can dredge up what little humor I used to have. Besides, Wade would’ve done worse. You _know_ he would have.” He made sure he didn’t get _too_ far ahead while Chica took care of her business. Mark would never stray far from either of them on these runs. It was nerve-wracking enough just to be outside and vulnerable. It didn’t really matter if Jack was a twiggy bean and Chica was hardly a guard dog. He didn’t need them for _physical_ support. Mark wanted them there to help with his mental fortification. They hadn’t let him down in that department.

Jack sighed as Chica left the tree and hurried a couple steps to catch up to Mark. “Wait, wait, wait. _You_ used to have humor?” Jack side-stepped Mark’s physical retaliation with a laugh, sticking out his tongue.

“I know, it’s pretty hard to believe. But there was a smidgen there somewhere, Jack. Just _one little iota_ that kept the people coming. Y’know, when I wasn’t stealing _everyone else’s_ humor.” He huffed and tossed out the dramatics in the wake of his failure. It was almost as satisfying.

“I won’t deny I’m a healthier leprechaun with having you around. It’s just itchy when I get like this.”

Mark reached over to prod at a patch of pale red on the side of Jack’s neck. “You should bring some ointment or something. You kinda look like a strawberry, with that green top and all. You’re gonna wreck your reputation as the Irish potato.” Mark poked at another spot on Jack’s arm. It was like a game. Plus he was in a good mood, which meant riling Jack up for fun. _Poke._

Jack squirmed and batted at Mark’s hands. “What are you doing!? Stop hating the strawberry! I’ll have you know, strawberries and cream are _very_ in this summer. Cream _skin_ , not...what you were just thinking!” Jack wagged a finger at Mark.

Mark avoided Jack’s half-hearted swipes just as well; hand snaking back in again and again to poke at a new patch of red. Mark had already been starting to giggle from the silliness of it, but Jack’s slip of the tongue brought them out in full force. He wiggled his eyebrows a bit at Jack and nudged him with an elbow. “Why Jack, I have _no idea_ what you’re referring to! My mind only conjured up thoughts of creamy white Irish skin; gleaming in the sunlight for all of five seconds before it spontaneously combusted. Hopefully that’s not what yours is doing. I haven’t a _clue_ about what else could be white and creamy in that context.” Mark drawled; the picture of innocence.

Jack failed to block Mark’s hands from poking at him, but he laughed. “Fuck you, Mark! For that, I’m _not_ gonna remind you next time that we should bring bread for the ducks!”

They reached the knoll, and Jack flung himself to the grass, sprawling out in the setting sun. “This is my patch. Mine and Chica’s. Find your own, you crazed arm-poker!” He stretched his arms wide and stuck his tongue out at Mark again. Chica’s leash was looped around his wrist, keeping her from wandering too far.

“Hey now! Don’t take out your frustrations on the innocent little duckies! They need to eat too.” Mark climbed the slight incline with Jack but paused as his companion threw himself down. He let his hands come to rest on his hips. Chica was contently sniffing about the familiar territory in a broad circle; much as her leash would allow. “Excuse you. For the record, my title is _‘the crazed_ ** _butt-stabber_** _’,_ Jack. And seeing as I _can’t_ stab your butt when you’re laying on it, I’ll just have to take other measures. Prepare yourself.”

Mark plopped down into a cross-legged sitting position, facing Jack, and attacked. Except he didn’t just poke at Jack’s red spots this time; he specifically zeroed in on spots where he _knew_ his friend was ticklish. There was a delighted sort of mischief on his face while he tormented the Irishman lying hapless before him. “Admit I’m funny! Admit it!!”

Jack _howled_ as Mark tickled him, thrashing around on the grass and laughing until he was breathless. He was swatting at Mark as best he could. “M-making...making me l-l-laugh from _tickling_ doesn’t...doesn’t...doesn’t count!” All he could really do was curl up and smack at Mark’s hands and arms, tucking his chin against his chest, his forearms against his sides, desperately trying to protect his stomach. “Stooooooooooop! Stop, stop, mercy, _fine_! You’re funny!”

Mark was careful to lean back or to the side whenever Jack’s flailing drew too close to his face. Otherwise, he was all right with the light smacks to his arms and shoulders and chest. If Jack was going to trigger him like that at this point, he’d probably need to legitimately punch Mark. It certainly helped Jack was laughing himself ragged and trying to hide away. Jack’s body language was the exact _opposite_ of the men who had tormented Mark for three months.

He kept it up with growing mirth until Jack finally caved. Smiling cheekily, like the cat that caught the canary (or in this case, the squirrel perhaps), Mark released Jack from his tickle torture and sat back. “Well if _you_ think I’m funny then it just _must_ be true. Thanks Jack, you’re the _best._ ” Mark exaggerated the words on purpose, but he wished he could convey them more sincerely; show Jack just how much he _appreciated_ him. Everything he did, everything he said, simply the way he looked laying curled up on the grass. His pale skin was reddened from loss of breath and their run. Jack’s chest was heaving while blue eyes shone with the threat of tears- _good_ tears. His green hair, just a few shades brighter than the grass, stuck up in places from his squirming and Mark’s heart rolled over behind his ribcage. _Cute._

Jack curled up, protecting his belly as he panted for breath. Once he managed that, he angled a grin over at Mark from behind an arm. “...funny _looking_!” He was still giggling, shaking with lingering tremors from his laughter and the tickle attack.

Mark gasped. _“Rude.”_ He really _should_ have seen that one coming; it was a perfect setup. Then again, Jack hadn’t made fun of his looks in… months. Not since the convention. Whenever they discussed Mark’s appearance, it was always in a positive light. He’d been supremely self-conscious and uncertain after recovering enough _not_ to be terrified for his safety at any given moment. Every day, every glance in the mirror, was spent doubting his looks; how much his body had deteriorated. Every time that self-doubt reared its ugly head, Jack was there with gentle reassurances and heartfelt compliments.

He knew Jack hadn’t meant anything by it. He _knew_ Jack was just teasing and that Mark had sort of brought it upon himself but the fact Jack was still giggling made the words touch upon a part of himself he was still working hard to dismiss. It wasn’t completely gone yet. His expression mellowed out some as he reached up to touch his own face; brushing fingertips along one of the more prominent scars. There were worse words Jack could have used. “I am funny….”

Jack was immediately pushing himself up. “No, Mark, _no_ , that’s not what I meant…” He reached out, catching Mark’s hand and drawing it away from the scar. “You’re healing, Mark, you _are_. These are fading.” He brushed his fingers over the scar himself, catching his breath for a moment. He drew his hand back, but he kept his grip on Mark’s hand with his other.

“And they don’t… they don’t really change how you look. Not _really_. You just notice them more because they’re on your face, like how whenever you get a zit, you’re sure everyone’s staring at it, but really, almost no one notices unless it is amazingly huge or poorly placed. And these aren’t like that. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better either.” Jack was sitting close to Mark, studying his face. They were nearly as close as they’d been under the willow.

They never had finished that conversation. Mark wasn’t sure if he wanted to or not.

“Yes, people are gonna notice them. And probably ask about them, at conventions and stuff, or in your ask box or comments. But Mark, you’re not...they don’t make you _funny-looking_. And certainly not ugly. And you’re…” Jack gestured at Mark’s body with his free hand.

“I-I know. I know it’s not, Jack, of course it’s not I just…” Mark tried to keep his voice strong but didn’t do a very good job. He allowed his hand to be pulled away; only to tense and seize up as Jack’s fingers took its place. He loathed the reaction because of course, Jack instantly pulled away, as if worried his touch would fracture fragile glass. Even after all these months, Mark still couldn’t handle an unexpected touch to his face. Guilt and remorse immediately shone in his eyes as he adjusted the grip Jack had on his hand. He held the smaller appendage in some apologetic gesture and squeezed. “...I know it’s hypocritical. For me to be so worried about them, after all the… after everything I’ve told people about not being ashamed. I was never upset about my other scars. I should be over this by now.”

It wasn’t as if his community didn’t know what he looked like now. Mark had uploaded several images and videos since he finally got used to being on camera again; albeit with his express consent and plenty of breaks in-between. Images of him from the room were all but washed away into the dark archives of the Internet as his fan base embraced the new content. There had been little mention of his scars. Or if there was, it tended to be someone else sharing their story; conveying their appreciation for his courage to show his face again. To not let the marks drag him down. They were inspired and Mark wished he could tell them all _he_ was the inspired one, reading their comments and replies. He squeezed at Jack’s hand again and resisted the powerful urge to try interlocking their fingers. He was getting a slight feeling of deja vu.

Jack interlaced their fingers instead and returned the squeeze.

Mark didn’t really know what to think when Jack did exactly what he’d been craving but stalwartly avoiding. He enjoyed it, for one, but at the same time the coincidence made it feel like he was missing something. He gave their surroundings a nervous glance before returning the squeeze whole-heartedly. Chica was the only other living thing around besides the ducks in the river. They were safe. It was okay. Then why were his insides still twisting around themselves?

“Mark, your muscle is coming back. It’s so ridiculously not fair, you’re not working out all that much more than I am, but you’re already twice as buff. You’re not…” Jack gave Mark a crooked smile. “Let’s just say that none of your fangirls are going to be disappointed.”

Jack’s comments helped to perk him up a little. “Oh great, more squealing on the streets. Looks like your competition for hottest YouTuber is back in action, JackSepticEye. Buffiplier raises you plus ten biceps- how do you respond?” Laughter was the best medicine, and humor _always_ helped Mark feel better. Joking about the fan war that had recently cropped up again in regards to which of them was more model material distracted Mark from the negative thoughts. He’d rather focus on Jack and his exasperated smile anyway.

Jack laughed. “Oh please, have you _seen_ Felix? I have no chance against that impressive specimen of a Swedish Viking...but everyone knows Buffiplier deserves the title of the heartthrob of YouTube. Felix has _nothing_ on your voice.”

Jack’s laugh was like tinkling bells in his ears and- ‘ _Oh my god that was a really gay thought_ ** _Mark moving on!!!’_**

He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the conversation. Right, the conversation alluding to the fact Mark found Jack hot. Fantastic. He’d really shot himself in the foot with this one. “I’ll concede to having one of the best voices on YouTube.” Mark purposefully rolled his tone into the verbal equivalent of molten chocolate just to emphasize. It felt _so good_ to do that again. “And I guess if you’re into the whole pillaging viking thing, then Felix would be king in your books without a doubt. But you’re a real contender here, Jack. I mean just look at you. You’ve got the adorable accent, bright blue eyes and vibrant green hair and your smile could rekindle the damn sun if it burned out. And your-” Mark nearly swallowed his own tongue when he realized what he was saying. He had just been about to compliment Jack’s _ass._ He had waxed totally poetic for his best friend-bro like some lovesick wingman. A bit of pink slapped itself into his cheeks and he pulled back; abashed. “I mean… you look good, Jack. You should give yourself more credit.”

Jack’s eyes were wide. “Felix…” His voice squeaked out, and he had to clear his throat, his own cheeks pink-tinged. “Felix has the blond haired, blue-eyed thing going for him. Most people wouldn't consider _green_ hair attractive, not even my fellow Irishmen…”

Mark puffed out a breath as if the idea of Felix being more attractive than Jack was ludicrous (it was). “It suits you.” The green hair; it fit Jack and complimented him in a way that wouldn’t work for just anyone, sort of like Mark with his red. Out of all the colors he’d tried, it was _that one_ his fans raved about the most. The one he personally loved. Mark missed it.

He combed fingers through his dark locks both in a gesture of self-consciousness from his passionate words and because, well, if he thought about hair it was just a habit. He still wasn’t looking at Jack, but their hands hadn’t separated either. “...sorry, that got pretty silly there for a second. You know me. Always rambling and just running my mouth to spit out whatever inane thoughts come to me next. I’m like a shitpost generator.” Mark made an attempt to laugh it off in Jack’s stead, however, his eyes had softened as he continued in a tone that matched them. “...really, though. Under all the bullshit I’m basically saying you _are_ attractive, Jack. The fan base doesn’t lie.” Maybe if he stared hard enough at the sun inching its way down in the distance he could just sear the embarrassment straight out of his body.

Jack turned to look at the sunset as well.  “If we're gonna be all mushy about it, you're hot as hell again, Mark. You're not...You're not the living corpse you were when…” Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “And it's not that the community _lies._ They just think people they love are more attractive than they objectively are, just _because_ they love them.”

He was still holding Mark's hand. Their fingers were still laced together. Maybe they should stop that.

Jack didn't let go.

Mark didn’t either.

_‘What does that say about me and you?’_

Mark wanted to voice the question so badly. It burned deep in his chest and in his throat as he worked to swallow it back down because that was just asking to open up a whole can of worms neither of them seemed ready to address yet. Mark leaned back on his elbow when Chica came to lay with them. He’d _always_ found Jack attractive in some light. He was cute back when they first met; before the green hair and brilliant confidence and dabbling into clothes that didn’t hide away his lithe frame. That knowledge in Mark’s mind never really went away. Jack just… _evolved,_ into a different kind of attractive. Both in looks and personality. Was he seeing through rose-tinted glasses because he had deeper feelings for Jack?

Mark’s stomach performed a stellar somersault and he shook his head a bit to himself. “Fine then. As your _friend,_ and not just your fan-” Because he was both; he’d been both for a very long time now. “-you can believe my opinion’s not as tainted. You’re hot, Jack. Just accept it. If I gotta, then you gotta.” He stated it matter-of-factly, leaving no more room for argument. “There’s almost no clouds today. It’s a really nice sunset. I kind of wanna take a picture.”

“...fine. Go for it. Sunsets like this one are meant for pictures.” Jack settled back on the grass, watching Mark watch the sunset paint the sky.

Mark was quite satisfied with Jack’s grudging acceptance and it became tinged with relief when Jack followed up on his shift in topic without hesitation. Sitting up again with a newfound eagerness, Mark fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the camera. There was no more hesitation in the action, no more anxiety on his face; especially since it wasn’t aimed _at him._ There was nothing stressful about snapping an artistic image of an Irish sunset over the River Shannon.

He smiled a little and contemplated making the picture his new phone background, yet his brain drifted to other possibilities- as it was wont to. Mark’s gaze slid to side-eye Jack and the tips of his ears darkened a shade or two upon finding the Irishman had been watching him. He did his best to make it the least amount of awkward for both of them and turned to fully face Jack. The word tumbled from his lips: “Smile.” Mark lifted his phone with Jack in the frame this time, expression hopeful. He wanted to capture the moment on a whim. So much for making it _less_ awkward.

Jack was already smiling. He didn't bother changing his expression at all as Mark turned the camera on him.

Mark snapped the picture before Jack could change his mind; make a silly face or put on one of his more blinding smiles. The moment Mark had spied the soft one already occupying Jack’s face, he regretted saying anything. It was rare for him to catch that expression on camera and he’d dedicated a special folder just for those more tender images. Thankfully, Jack was too slow on the draw, and Mark was successful. He looked down at the frozen frame and felt warmth bubble up in his chest.

Jack was stunning. Mark couldn’t understand how he could be so uncertain of his good looks. He swore they needed to make a movement striking off the “accidental” from “accidental model JackSepticEye”. The orange wash of light from the sunset cast Jack and his surroundings in a beautiful glow. It gave the green in his hair fiery overtones that clashed with gleaming blue eyes. The shadows thrown across his face and upper body only served to define what few angles his features had and his smile was the _piece de resistance,_ like the Irish Mona Lisa, all soft lines and genuine affection aimed at _him._

Jack sat up again, making a grabby hand at the phone. “Show me?”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat but he let Jack take the phone from his grasp. Then he leaned to rest his shoulder against Chica’s fuzzy body. God, was he ever fucked. Mark sought out Chica’s neck to hide his burning face under the guise of simple cuddles. The retriever had no qualms with her daddy suddenly showering her with attention.

“ _That_ one's not going online,” was all Jack said.

Mark accepted his phone back and quietly added the new picture to his special folder. Then he made the sunset his background screen and posted it on Instagram. It was too good for Twitter and no one would expect a message giving context. Mark pocketed the little device and sat up a bit, but he left his free arm wrapped tight around his baby girl. Between Chica and Jack, he was snugged between two of his favorite living beings in the world, watching a lovely sunset. The moment couldn’t get any better.

Not when Jack hosted a special little smile just for him. “...didn’t you mention there was something you wanted to talk about while we were out?”

“Yeah, about that…” Jack took a deep breath, looking at the river. “You know I've been in touch with Phil. Lester. He wrote to me the other day to say that he and Dan had some spare time next week...and they'd like to come visit.”

Aside from Tom and Maggie, there hadn't been any visitors to the little cottage. Aside from medical professionals, Mark hadn't really interacted face-to-face with people.

“Specifically...Dan actually wants to visit with you. If you're okay with it.” Jack glanced over at Mark.

Mark’s expression dipped a bit. That was just about the _last_ thing he was expecting Jack to tell him. After all, neither of them could even be considered friendly acquaintances with the pair. It was rather funny how YouTube could seem so small yet have surprising divides between set groups of YouTubers. Their circles never matched up. The only instances in which Mark or Jack had met Dan and Phil were pure coincidence. A chance meeting in an elevator or ducking through the back hallways of convention centers. They rarely had the opportunity to supply more than a quick greeting. Yet now the pair suddenly wanted to pay them a visit?

It wasn’t that Mark thought they were _bad_ people or that he didn’t want to meet up with them. He was just nervous and wary. It didn’t matter if they’d been victims of the same serial kidnapper, they were still practically strangers coming into Mark and Jack’s safe space, like Maggie. Except, thankfully, Mark _did_ have an inkling as to who Dan and Phil were; their dispositions and personalities. They were _nice guys_ with the same silly humor and they’d been through similar trauma- were the first, really. In fact, they were the only other example of the Ship Sinker’s victims staying together. Troyler had split after the incident and Hartbig, well… it was difficult to have a relationship with a corpse.

Dan wanted to visit with _him._ Was he trying to reach out, as the only other survivor willing to keep contact? Was he hoping for some kind of mutual understanding and closure if he met up with Mark? Could _Mark_ hope for that? What if seeing Dan- his scars, his shadows, his painful reminiscing- triggered him? Mark worried at his bottom lip with his teeth and cuddled Chica a bit closer. “...did he say why? Is he really okay with coming all the way out here?”

“To trade cupcake recipes?” Jack immediately shook his head. “No, I'm sorry. He didn't say specifically why, but he did say Dan had stressed it was absolutely only if you were up for it. I guess that means it's for your benefit more than his. And, I mean...I'd kinda like a chance to actually _talk_ with Phil. Face-to-face. He...he gets my side of things better than anyone else, even my therapist.”

Jack plucked at the grass, watching Mark. “They only live in London. That's hardly any distance. They could even visit as a day trip. Ireland isn't _that_ remote. It's not like if they were going to fly to L.A. But...yeah. Like Dan, if you're not up for it, I'm not gonna push you.”

Mark hunkered down close to Chica and the grass as he considered the idea. His options were simple: either Dan and Phil came to visit or they didn’t. Maybe he should be logical about it. His emotions certainly weren’t giving him any answers.

The pros of letting the Englishmen come to visit: Jack got to meet Phil, Phil might be able to _help_ Jack, Mark would finally have someone to talk to who truly understood and it would be an excellent way for Mark to get some practice in at face-to-face interaction with people. The cons: Mark would need to have face-to-face interaction with people, they could trigger him, _he_ could trigger _Dan_ and Phil might possibly make things _worse_ for Jack. If Jack got a perspective on the long term and didn’t like what he saw or heard…

Mark mentally shook himself. No. No, don’t think like that. He pressed on. Pros of saying no: he didn’t have to meet up with anyone, no one was triggered, everything stayed exactly the same. Cons: they could hurt Dan and Phil’s feelings even if they wouldn’t admit it, Mark and Jack were _both_ missing out on chances to grow and Jack might be disappointed.

Really, at the end of the day, it all boiled down to Mark’s fear and if he could overcome his anxieties. He hated to admit it, but it would probably be good for the _both of them_ if they met up with Dan and Phil. It would even be in the comfort of their Irish sanctuary. If anything, the YouTube partners had more right to be wary than Mark did; coming to a cottage in rural Ireland to meet two people they barely knew. Mark and Jack completely had the upper hand. It must have taken Dan a long time to muster up the confidence just to see Mark.

Eventually, he sighed. He squeezed at Jack’s hand, cuddled Chica and looked off at the sunset again. The orange hues were beginning to darken to red as the light faded with its source. “...okay. Okay, we’ll try it. If I’m gonna meet up with them, it might as well be while I’m still here. Easier on everyone that way.”

Jack smiled, stroking his thumb over Mark’s knuckle. “I’ll let Phil know when we get back, so he can make plans. They don’t...I’m not going to offer them a place to stay or anything like that, and I’m sure they’ll understand if we kick them out when you’re done. And if...even if day of, you change your mind, that’s fine. I can always meet Phil outside the house.” The cottage was Mark’s sanctuary.

“Okay.” Mark supposed he could agree to all of that. It was a comfort to know he could change his mind even at the last minute, though he’d try not to, as he’d hate to inconvenience Dan and Phil like that. They’d be going out of their way for this visit. The least he could do was host them after their travels, no matter how brief. He could do it. It would be a big step in the right direction; a good precursor for going home and seeing everyone again. Mark steadied himself with a deep breath.

Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers, then gave his hand a little tug. “We should probably head back, if we want to get home before the light fades completely. Ready for round two of the run?”

Mark took one last look at the dying sun, leaned over to press a kiss to Chica’s fluffy head and squeezed Jack’s hand. The retriever gave him a lick on the chin in response. “Yeah. I’m ready. I think that question would be better for _you,_ Mr. Itchy Skin. Think you can handle jogging all the way back home?” Dan and Phil wouldn’t be there _tomorrow,_ or even in a few days. He had time.

“I’ll be fine,” Jack assured Mark, wrinkling his nose and _finally_ releasing Mark’s hand so he could stand up. “But I call first shower! You’ll just have to marinate in your man-juices a bit.” Mark did get sweaty when he went on these runs, but the shower was really the only thing to give Jack actual relief from his not-sweat. “Or...we _could_ race for it…”

Mark got up as well and Chica was quick to follow suit; it was obvious she was eager to get moving again. He reached down to affectionately ruffle her head and ears with a hand. “Eugh, Jack, geez. Make it sound a little more gross, why don’t you?” He scrunched up his nose at the thought of “marinating” in pretty much anything but the mention of a race caught his attention. “Oh? You think you can beat _moi?_ At physical activity? _You’re on, Jackaboy._ ”

“Speed is key!” Jack crowed. “C’mon, Chica! Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	68. 7/11: danisnotonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and an American with his pupper greets them.

“Mark! I’m home! And I got Dan and Phil!”

“He didn’t lose us!” Dan called out.

Mark took several deep breaths before finally forcing himself from the bedroom. He’d been in there since Jack left earlier that morning to go pick up Dan and Phil, just trying to prepare himself for the meeting. It was easier, surrounded by the fluffy blankets of their bed, Jack’s scent and an ever patient Chica. His mind rolled through possible scenarios, reactions and how he should go about interacting with the Brits. It was hardly their first meeting, but it would be the first since Mark was kidnapped. Since _Dan_ was kidnapped. It wasn’t the same as before, and Mark had no idea how his body was going to react.

Yet time for contemplation and preparation was up. Jack had returned with Dan and Phil in tow and Mark couldn’t postpone greeting them any longer. Chica was already several feet ahead of him to sniff out the strangers for any signs of a threat or danger. She was always a curious dog, but now that she had Mark back she had become supremely protective of her human. (Jack as well, though to a lesser extent.) He could hear Phil’s excited voice before he even entered the room.

“Oh my god. Oh my _god._ You’ve got a dog. Oh my god. Dan! They have a _dog._ Worth the trip alone. This right here. Perfect.”

“Aaand he’s gone,” Dan said. “Forget anything else. Doge takes priority. Cute doge, best doge.” Chica gave a little yip and swiveled her head around away from the newcomers as Mark finally stepped into the room. Dan was scratching Chica behind the ears, and Phil had crouched down to give her a full blown hug.

Jack made his way to Mark’s side. He brushed his fingers against Mark’s wrist and caught his eye in a silent question.

Mark was okay. He was _okay._ Dan and Phil were cool guys; they’d met a few times and never had an issue. They were here because they’d been in the same boat as Mark and Jack, just over a year ago. They were about as far from “dangerous” or “bad” people as one could get but still Mark felt nervous. He glanced down when Jack bumped his wrist. Meeting his blue-eyed gaze, Mark tried to shoot him a reassuring look. It was weak. _I’ll be okay. This is okay._

“Made of pure gold and fluffy stuff, that’s Chica-bica. I’m relieved she’s okay with you two….” Mark had been anxious she would take the strangers at face value and put herself between them, but she looked quite content with Phil snuggling her like some giant plushie. It was actually pretty cute. Technically, Dan and Phil were the first non-employed people he was meeting in person with besides his own brother. It was entirely new territory with a couple of YouTubers he barely knew to begin with, but there was a reason they had come all the way to Ireland and Mark wasn’t about to waste their generosity. He shuffled forward, lingering closer to Jack and Chica, and managed a weak smile for them. “It’s pretty cool to see you guys again. I mean, what, I think we shared an elevator like two years ago at a con? We should’ve snapped another pic. For some reason our encounters are like finding rare Pokemon. See you haven’t gotten any less _tall,_ though.” Mark had to look up. _Jesus Christ._

Phil laughed at that and finally straightened, leaving Chica to sit by Mark’s feet. “And you haven’t gotten any less short.” He teased before quickly continuing. “It really is good to see you two again. And for more than a quick hullo and ta-ta for once! Special day indeed.” He exaggerated his Northern accent on purpose and Mark relaxed a little at the humor.

“So,” Dan said, “shoes on or off or…?”

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Jack assured the pair. “I leave mine on unless I get too hot.”

“Good,” Dan said. “Cause these are a bitch to unlace.” He had black boots on over his skinny jeans, and a black jumper over his turtleneck. He finally looked from Chica to Phil to Mark, his brown eyes skimming down Mark’s body before returning to his face, to his eyes. Dan stepped forward, drawing one of his hands with the twisted fingers out of his pocket and offering it to Mark. “Hey.”

**_Dan was looking him up and down and Mark wasn’t really so sure this was okay-_ **

Dark brown eyes met chocolate ones and the tremble that had started up in Mark’s hands went abruptly still. Not because of the eye contact, which was usually nerve-wracking unless it was with Jack or Chica. Mark’s growing anxieties faltered because he recognized something in those eyes; something he had only ever witnessed in a mirror. There was a nearly imperceptible shadow to the light of life in them. A haunted look clinging to lashes and the whites he knew would never really go away. In a silent moment, something clicked, and Mark felt all of his breath become clogged up in his throat. It took _effort_ to drag his focus from those eyes down to the hand that had been extended in his direction. Most would assume it was for a handshake in greeting and Mark almost did too- but then he knew better.

Mark knew in the scars he could still see spotting the fair skin; how some of the knobs and knuckles were out of place. Dan’s fingers were still twisted and locked into positions they should never have been forced into. Mark’s gaze shifted to his own abused limb and he couldn’t see much of a difference. Not where it counted, anyway. Stunned by the new experience, Mark was reaching out for the hand before he could even think much on it; he wanted to touch it. He wanted to feel those lumps and the raised skin of scars to confirm it was real, that he wasn’t the only one. Mark held his breath.

Their fingers touched and he tensed at the friction, as always, but he kept going. Once the contact was made Mark found himself sucked in because it _was_ real. ‘ _Of course it is_ ,’ he scolded his brain. ‘ _Dan was the first. Time didn’t change that.’_ Their palms slid together, Mark’s fingertips gently feeling along Dan’s wrist, and then he connected. He lightly grasped Dan’s hand as he finally dragged wide eyes back up to an understanding face and he remembered to exhale. “...hey.”

Dan broke Mark’s gaze to shoot a look at Phil, a giddy little _look what I just did!_ but then his eyes were back on Mark’s and his giddiness turned into something more shadowed and serious, except he was still smiling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

_I’m glad you’re alive._

Jack closed his eyes, curling his arms around his waist. Phil had just shot Dan a little double thumbs-up when the younger man looked his way. Seemingly noticing Jack’s upset, he stepped up to Jack and brought his hands up to settle them on Jack’s narrow shoulders; squeezing.

“I’m… m.. m-me too.” Mark had no idea if he was agreeing about being there, or telling Dan the feeling was mutual, but the deeper meaning in that phrase wasn’t missed. Mark could feel himself becoming choked up again. He stubbornly held onto Dan’s hand and glanced over towards Jack. He felt concerned because his roommate didn’t look so good, but then Phil looked like he knew what he was doing. Uncertain and hesitant, Mark looked back to Dan, at their joined hands, back to Dan; seeking direction. “I… uh….”

Dan glanced over at Phil and Jack, then back to Mark. “Phil’s got him,” he said quietly. “Shall we find somewhere else? Let them gossip without us?”

Mark watched Phil closely address an emotional Jack and didn’t feel bad about it. Which was odd, but also a relief. Maybe he just didn’t feel like Phil was a threat… to… something. He had no idea where that train of thought had been going, but Dan was speaking again; drawing his attention back. He glanced, once more, at the other two. “...okay. Okay, yeah.” Maybe it would be good for Jack. Maybe Phil could give him something Mark couldn’t. In the meantime, he could ask Dan some questions. He forced himself to focus on Dan and trailed after him. Phil was okay, Phil was _safe._ If Dan trusted Phil, then Mark could too. Besides, Chica was still there. She wouldn’t let him get away with anything funny.

Dan let Mark lead him through the house and into the back garden. He looked around appreciatively as they took a seat beneath the huge willow tree, their crooked fingers still linked together. Mark watched him with disbelief in his dark eyes. Dan squeezed Mark’s fingers and offered him a tired smile. “Normally, when I’m meeting someone for the first time after… _that_ , Phil runs through this big list of what is and isn’t allowed,” he said. “But I think, here and now, with it just being the two of us… nothing is off the table. Okay? I’m… I still get… anxiety about things. But I can push through it better now. And if it helps you… I don’t want you to _not_ talk about whatever, for fear of setting me off.”

Mark felt more at ease sitting beneath the willow. It was weird having someone other than Jack there with him, but not unwelcome. He was still trying to take Dan _in;_ all the similarities he usually just spied in a mirror. Of course, their experiences and scars weren’t identical, but they were about as close as they could get. Mark never knew how much of a confidence booster just holding equally crooked fingers could be. He didn't feel like he was different- _damaged_ \- for once and he squeezed back. “Y-yeah, yeah. I get what you mean. I haven't… met with a lot of people, but… Jack will do the same thing. He did it to Tom when he came to visit.”

He drew a deep breath in through his nose and focused his attention on Dan’s face. “...but you're right. This is a special case. I think we can be a little more reckless… to a point. I mean, I'm still kind of a mess, but… I'm willing to try for this. To hear you out. So don't hesitate too much either, okay?” Mark paused to consider his first question carefully. He was already beginning to feel nervous because of how invasive the question could sound, but he licked at his lips and tried to maintain eye contact with relative success. “How… how did you do it??”

“I… still don’t know,” Dan admitted quietly, holding Mark’s gaze for a minute. He looked down at their hands, at the silvery scars tracing up the back of his pale skin. “I don’t know, I just… I _needed_ to. I didn’t know… I didn’t know who they were, what they wanted, what they were going to do to me. They kept saying if I was good, I could go home, and I just… I wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl into my bed again, and have Phil hold me and tell me everything was okay, it was just a bad dream.” Dan closed his eyes. “I knew if I stayed alive, tried to hold on to what was _me_ … there really was a chance I could go home. If I died in that room… Phil couldn’t know what happened to me. He had no way of knowing. And just that… everything in that room boiled down to him, in the end. I had to stay alive so I could explain to him. So he didn’t have to live his life never knowing where I’d disappeared to, or if I were dead or alive. And they kept… they kept threatening him. If I didn’t keep them happy, they’d go after him. If I died, they’d replace me with him. And there was no fucking way I was going to let them get their hands on him, not if I had _anything_ left…”

Dan took a shaky breath, forcing his eyes back to Mark. “Sorry. I just… you know how things got in there.”

Mark felt his skin crawl from depictions that rang true with his own memories; his own thoughts and feelings. He could understand where Dan was coming from perfectly. It felt like some kind of vertigo, or deja vu, or whatever one wanted to call it because for once these words weren't coming from himself but someone else with similar trauma. It was akin to an out of body experience, in a way. “They told me the same crap. ‘Be good and we’ll go easy on you, we’ll let you go.’ ‘If you ever get too boring there's always your Irish boyfriend we can nab; it would be easier than getting you was.’ Stuff to make you behave and do what they wanted and be a good…” He had to stop and bite his lip as he tensed. _Be a good boy._

He took a deep breath through his mouth and forced his gaze back to Dan’s face. “It's okay. It's okay… I understand.” Mark picked at the grass with his free hand. It wasn't the first time he fidgeted in such a way; the grass surrounding his usual spot was picked apart and tangled and knotted from Mark’s fingers.

“...How did _you_ do it? I mean, I was the first, so I had the uncertainty aspect, but you… you _knew_. The anticipation was always the worst for me, what were they going to do next? Were they going to be in a good mood or a bad one? Which one of them would come down, the… the sadist or the… other one? Or both together?” Dan shivered. “And then it looked like, with you...there was a third in that room?”

Mark almost closed his eyes but didn't want to find himself in the room again, so he kept them open as he ducked his head. "I don't... really know, to be perfectly honest with you. I guess I just... really didn't want to die. I didn't want to leave behind everyone without at least saying goodbye to them. Seeing them one more time. Letting them know that the Mark they were seeing online... it wasn't me. Not completely. That third man… all he wanted to do was capture it all with his cameras. He was obsessed with the ‘abused aesthetic’ and was the entire reason behind a lot of shots they set me up for. Certain things they did. He… he suggested the scarring on my back….”

Dan nodded his understanding and Mark had to take another few moments to maintain his composure. His face was twisted by the dark memories and the agony in his words, but he managed to get back on track. “And I knew how the Ship-Sinker worked. I knew that they were going to dump me at Jack's. And I knew that... that if he found a corpse... it would ruin him. He couldn't take it. I knew he blamed himself for that night.... Phil blamed himself too, didn't he?"

“Of course he did. He shouldn’t have gone swimming--with you guys, actually--should have gone back to the room with me, he knew I wasn’t feeling well, blah blah blah…” Dan shook his head. “He pretended to be room service, I ordered some food...some chocolate cake, actually. Knocked on the door, I went to open it… it was all over so quickly. If Phil had been there, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He jabbed me with… something. I was out in minutes. Phil would’ve gone to answer the door if he were there, and I’d either have slept through the whole thing or been a completely useless giant flailing at this huge guy…” Dan looked down at the grass, then picked at some himself. “I think, if it had to happen, this was the best way it could’ve. Phil would have felt so much worse if he’d _been there_ and hadn’t stopped it. Or worse, if they took him instead…”

Mark pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his free arm around them. He usually tried not to think about that night he was kidnapped, but Dan had just shared his story. It felt a bit validating; to know he wasn't the only person who so easily fell victim to their ploys. He took another breath. “...they've gotten better, since then. Smarter. Less risky. I wasn't… I didn't even give them an opening. I went back to my room early because I was tired but I realize now I'd been drugged at the karaoke bar. I was dead asleep and someone let him in my room…. I was still so out of it, I couldn't put up much of a fight. He ended up drugging me again anyway- with a needle, same as you. Probably so I wouldn't draw any suspicion in the… in the suitcase.” Mark swallowed around a dry throat. Just the thought of being tied up in that cramped space made him want to start hyperventilating again.

He pushed on. “Jack… Jack blamed himself too. That he should've realized something was wrong. Shouldn't have told me to leave. Should've come with me. But it wouldn't have stopped them. Would've just made things worse, like you said. He could've gotten hurt, or he could've gotten taken…. I know he wishes it had been him. But I'd go through it again to prevent him having to experience even a day in that room.” Much as it terrified Mark to say that, it was true. He rested his chin atop his knees and had long stopped looking at Dan.

Dan took a deep breath. “I haven’t… I haven’t actually seen the pictures. Any of them. If I ever accidentally stumbled across one online, I’d close out of it the moment I realized it was in that room. I couldn’t… it was too much. Still. But Phil… Phil wanted to know what I’d been through. He’d keep me updated on how you were doing in there. That you were still alive. When you’d fight back. He… I wish he hadn’t seen. It’s one thing to just hear what we’ve been through, and something else to _see_ it… and then something else entirely to go through it. He was so _sad_ during that time. He’d just sit with me afterwards, and hold me tight, and he wouldn’t say anything, and I just… I can’t imagine how it was for Jack. Phil just imagined me there, but Jack knew it was the guy he loved…”

Mark still held Dan’s hand, but now he was gazing a bit listlessly off into the distance. He always closed in on himself when the pictures came up. “...it's okay. I can't be upset with him for wanting to know what you went through. Though I agree with you that… that it would have been better, for both of them, if they avoided it altogether. It's bad enough we have to live with the memories…. Jack’s…” Mark paused, but this time it wasn't with emotion and he turned back to Dan with a confused blink. “Wait. What did you say? Dan he… Jack doesn't… it's not like that. Jack doesn't… love… me. At least, not like _that._ As best friends maybe. But he's not… sorry, you've got the wrong idea.” Of course Jack _cared_ about Mark back then. But _love?_ No.

Dan looked back, confusion obvious in his face. “What? But even in your most recent vlog… you two _aren’t_ together? At all?”

Mark’s ears went a bit pink as he tried to keep the flustered, incredulous sputter out of his words. “ _No._ Not even a little bit. We’re just friends. And roommates, for now. That's it.” Roommates that shared a bed and cuddled in the morning; roommates that held hands and shared intimate touches and- _no._ No, it was all platonic, all to help Mark with his anxieties. That was it. Jack and Mark were just _very_ touch-starved people. “What about my last vlog?” It was from his birthday. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary had happened- well, outside of their scripted “randomness”. What could Dan be referring to it for?

“It was just… how you’d look at him. How _he’d_ look at you. I mean, some of it you were obviously playing up for your fans, like that whole potato exchange, but like…that thing with the ice cubes, or the badger attack, or when you were opening presents… if he wasn’t looking at you like you’d hung the moon, you were looking at him like that, and…

“I just… _we_ just thought you two were definitely a couple, and that vlog clinched it. But I guess, I mean...unusual circumstances and all that…”

Mark picked at the grass and would have torn at it if he didn't care for the space so much. Dan’s claims had made him stop and think because it wasn't _just_ Dan. Or Phil too, apparently. Before Tom had left, he'd come to Mark about the same observations. Mark had been even more flustered than he was now and immediately denied his brother’s suggestions. Tom had been really exasperated by the time he conceded to stop pressing the subject but told him he should talk to Jack about it, which was something Mark had considered doing several times since.

...he never said he'd actually managed to _do it._

It was easy to dismiss the ideas of one person or a bunch of fans who originally saw things where there weren't any to begin with. Tom just wanted Mark to be happy and he thought all of Mark’s cuddly, _platonic_ affections were something more. Yet if Dan and Phil, two men who knew little about Jack and Mark, believed they were a legitimate couple from “supposedly obvious” cues…. That wasn't so easy to ignore. Mark hugged his knees a bit tighter. “...how did you know you were in love with Phil? And… and did you know he loved you back? Before you confessed? How did you two manage to stay together after… after all that happened??” Mark wasn't looking at Dan, but he was still holding his hand and there was a genuine thirst for answers in his tone.

“Heh, go for the big questions…” Dan shifted a little beside Mark, drawing up a knee and resting his arm across it.

Mark’s flush returned and this time it was tinged with guilt. “Sorry.” He didn’t mean to be so invasive or stick his nose into Dan’s love life; his personal life. Sure, it technically had connections to his trauma, but it felt like an excuse.

“I don’t know _how_ I fell in love with Phil. I started off just watching his videos and thinking he was really cool and wishing I could be like him too. We got to talking, first online, then we met in person, and he encouraged me, and… one thing led to another and we became flatmates and I just… realized one morning that I never wanted him to not be in my life. Not as a YouTube buddy. Just as him. Phil. And then I had an existential crisis and proceeded to not ever say anything to him. He’s the one who broached the topic first. And then after…”

Mark’s guilt didn’t stop him from listening. Dan had his rapt attention as he went into the beginnings of his relationship with Phil. It sounded similar to how Jack and Mark met, except Mark was the “Phil” in their scenario. Well, they also didn’t move in together until the incident forced them to, but the rest sounded the same. Had Jack been hosting a crush on him- a _real_ crush- the same way Dan had for Phil? Was that why he’d act weird around him sometimes, or awkward? Did Jack want to see him as more than just a “YouTube buddy”?

He supposed the thought of Jack not being in his life anymore was terrifying- almost painful, actually. Before the convention, Mark would have just been upset, probably; disappointed. Now, after everything they’d been through and all he’d learned about the Irishman… he couldn’t imagine never seeing him again. Hell, just thinking about how he’d be leaving for home soon tugged hard at his heartstrings, similar to what Dan was saying. He knew Jack was upset about him leaving too. The man had nearly started crying last time the topic came up. Mark’s eyes flitted about without really taking in anything as his mind started to race.

Dan closed his eyes. “After was hard. But it wasn’t because we’d stopped loving each other. We just… they used his face. In that room. We used to sell masks of our faces, and they bought his and… whenever they were in there, they’d have the masks on. It was always his face and their hands and so when I first woke up in hospital and he was beside me… I just lost it. I thought I was back there. And Phil… Phil didn’t want to make things harder on me. He wanted to leave so I could heal, but that wasn’t the point: _Phil_ was what healed me. Just his voice or his touch, how he’d coax me out of an attack or just _be_ there and I’d know I was safe… It didn’t matter that they’d used his image, because I knew they weren’t _him._ And I never wanted _him_ to not be in my life. So we just…” Dan shrugged, glancing over at Mark. “One day at a time. Some days were harder than others. Some days still are. But he’s… he’s helped so, so much. How could I _not_ still love him?”

Mark had admittedly been on track for a light anxiety attack but Dan’s admission about one of the Ship Sinker’s tactics snapped him off his train of thought. Mark looked over at him with horror in his brown eyes. “They used… fuck, Dan. That’s… that’s awful, I’m sorry, oh my god….” If they had the opportunity to use that on Mark, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to look at Jack the same way again, let alone harbor feelings for him; _live with him._ Mark was honestly staring at Dan with a bit of awe. “I don’t know how you managed to get past that, but… you’re amazing, Dan. Really. I don’t know if I could’ve…. I’m glad. That you two worked things out. It’s that kind of stuff that spits in their faces. Shows them they can’t control you… that you can get your life back…. I….” Mark’s voice died as he looked down again.

“I’m not going to say it was easy,” Dan said. “You of all people know how not-easy recovering is. Phil would come to the hospital in a hat and scarf, every day. Seeing his eyes helped--they didn’t have blue eyes. Hearing his voice. They couldn’t get the Northern accent. Probably couldn’t do Jack’s Irish either. And he’s made changes to his appearance, how he does his hair and now he never wears contacts. It’s helped. We’ve worked on it. But sometimes, if I’m lost in thought and he walks in the room and startles me… even to this day, it’s like I’m right back there. The difference is that we’ve found ways to deal with it. If I shove my hands over my eyes, he knows he triggered me, so he starts talking about his houseplants or whatever, just talks and talks until I can focus back on _him_ and not _them_.”

Jack had healed Mark. Jack had been there from day one to hold Mark in any way he needed to be held; knew when to stop himself. He would talk or sing for hours and hours whether Mark had a panic attack or was just anxious. Jack had helped him more than anyone. More than the doctors or therapists or his family’s attempts to comfort him from halfway across the globe. Jack had been there for _everything._ Dan had a good point. How could Mark not… “Aren’t you scared it might not be real love?? Wh-what if it’s the trauma, or what they did to you…. What if it’s affecting your thinking? Weren’t you scared you were mistaking his pity for love, or...” The questions were rushed and hushed; Mark was scared just to think about the possibility, but then he winced. “...sorry. I’m not… I’m not trying to say the love between you two isn’t real. I’m just…”

Dan squeezed Mark’s hand. “Phil and I were together even before,” he said quietly. “Not that we want that to be public knowledge. I don’t… I _know_ he loved me before, and he loves me still. But if you’re asking about Jack…” Dan huffed a light laugh, smiling at Mark. “The videos he made about it when you were in the room were not from a man just missing a friend. And the two of you together in panels or whatnot… Phil and I were always reminded of ourselves. That’s why we thought you were together. Your recent vlog just made us happy that you were _still_ together. I don’t think you have anything to worry about if you’re scared of Jack just pitying you.”

Mark hadn’t watched the videos Jack uploaded while he was kidnapped. They were both too worried he might be triggered by anything Jack said. To them, it was just… an unnecessary risk. The incident was over and done, why revisit it through update vlogs? Their interactions in panels and collaboration videos and just in general whenever they were together; a lot of that was exaggerated. Mark had a bad habit of teasing and jokingly flirting with all of his friends and Jack had only been the latest in a string of ships he ended up creating. Mark couldn’t be sure he’d ever had _serious_ feelings for his Irish friend back then or any of his friends- not like _that._

Jack could have feelings for him, though. Jack could have been hiding tells and playing along for more than just the joke. Had he wanted it to be real? Septiplier? If Dan could be so sure Phil’s love wasn’t just pity or sympathy then what made Jack’s any different? What made Mark’s feelings different from Dan’s, besides the fact he’d already had an established relationship? Dan said his love for Phil remained the same and Mark was at a loss. He had no idea if his thoughts were just wishful thinking or actual cognitive process.

Dan brushed his fringe to the side and kept watching Mark. “Are you… wondering if _you_ love _him_?”

When Mark looked back to Dan it was with big, confused brown eyes and a slight pout to his lips that could have put a puppy to shame. “I don’t know what to think anymore…. Everyone keeps telling me different stuff, and I never thought about it before, until only recently and I just... I don’t want anything I’m feeling to just be because of _them…._ ”

“Nothing anyone else says matters,” Dan said. “The only thing that matters is what _you_ think and how _you_ feel. It’s entirely possible to have a platonic love for someone, to never want them out of your life without wanting to also bump uglies. It’s probably something you should talk over with Jack, or even your therapist. But, as the head of the Internet Support Group… I guess, would you have been tempted if he’d floated the idea before? If he’d actually come forth last year, two years ago, and gone ‘Mark, you’re super hot, and I’d really like to kiss you,’ would you have gone with it? Not that he’d ever do it that way. It’s hard being the little guy looking up at senpai giving you attention and not wanting to do anything to risk the status quo.”

Mark _knew_ he needed to talk to Jack; Tom had told him the same thing. He refused to mention it to his therapist, though. He _also knew_ they would probably just write it off as a side effect and nothing more; would warn him against pursuing his feelings and make him further doubt _everything._ No, it was a conversation for Jack. Unfortunately, actually _having_ that conversation with Jack was proving itself to be impossibly difficult. Dan wasn’t making theirs much easier, but at least they were questions. At least he could think about them in terms of a simple “yes” or “no”, rather than allowing his mind to run itself in circles. He tapped fingertips along the side of his knee. “...not… not at first, I don’t think. Before I met him in person, I thought he was cute. Pretty endearing with that whole ‘raised in a small cabin’ vibe, y’know? Then when I met him in person for the first time, I found out how _genuine_ that was. Jack tried to hide himself away at first a lot, but he never put on an act for his channel. He was the same Jack on the screen and in person, and I really respected him for that. He was like this adorable little Irish potato I just wanted to make laugh and smile and protect because of how _precious_ he was.”

He went a little pink when he realized he’d gone on an adulating ramble about Jack again and ducked closer to his knees as if to hide himself. “...if he asked me to kiss him after we’d met a few times, I… I might have said yes. I mean, I never considered… doing that, with a guy before. But… I always loved his smiles. He’s always so full of energy and I just… I wondered what it would be like, sometimes, to _hold_ that. To just… feel it.”

“Do you think _he’s_ super hot and want to kiss him now? Because…”

Mark was swaying between mortification and a warm understanding with each uttered word. He couldn’t stop; he was on some kind of roll and they all just kept spilling out. “ _Of course_ he’s hot. Jack’s gorgeous. He only got better-looking over the years. I have to tell him that all the time because the idiot doesn’t believe me. I don’t know why he can’t see it. I’ve gone on unintentional rants comparing him to all sorts of poetic shit so many times and… and fuck… _fuck…._ ” Mark released his legs to anxiously comb fingers through his hair.

“...I still want to kiss him. Even though thinking about it also makes me wanna throw up.” Holy fucking _balls_ he was _gay._ He was _gay for_ ** _Jack._** Mark felt like _he_ was the one having an existential crisis now. All it took was a few key questions from someone _other_ than a nervous Jack or his pushy brother to make him connect the dots.

Dan frowned a little, looking down, then back up at Mark’s confused puppy dog eyes. “This is really shitty what I’m going to suggest, so if you _do_ go this route, you _absolutely_ need to talk to Jack first and make sure there’s _absolutely no misunderstanding_. But… one of the things with having Phil, having a…” Dan coughed a little nervously, “a _physical_ relationship with him, after, is that… is that he’s been helping me reclaim my body as _mine_. It’s not their toy anymore. It’s not filthy or disgusting or used or broken, it’s _mine_ , and it can still make me feel good, and… and that’s helped me so much, Mark. So even… even if what you and Jack have _is_ because of confused emotions and _them_ … it might help to act on them simply because Jack _is_ someone you trust implicitly, someone who would never hurt you or take advantage of you, someone who can get you away from a bad edge if things go too far. But if you do go that route, Jack _needs_ to know that you’d… basically be using him to heal, and he’d need to be okay with that.”

Mark shook his head. “No. _No._ No way, I won’t- I wouldn’t. I _can’t_ do that to Jack and take advantage of him. I don’t care how much it could help. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than _me._ ** _Like this._** I… I… I think I’m gonna hurl….” Mark had started hyperventilating a bit without realizing it and now he felt sick with all the consequences his realization wrought. He gagged softly and immediately pressed his free hand tightly over his mouth. He’d started to tremble as the meticulously crafted veil he’d put up over the years began to crumble around him.

“Hey, hey, stay with me, Mark.” Dan reached over with his free hand to touch Mark's far arm. “Just breathe, okay? Jack's not here, he's not hearing any of this, you don't have to do anything but breathe with me, in and out. In and out. Do you need a hug? Would that help?”

Mark flinched and whipped his head around to stare at Dan with wide, scared eyes. The fear wasn't directed at Dan. It was all in relation to his little epiphany that, honestly, should have hit him sooner. He wasn't fully gone, yet. He could still hear and comprehend most of what Dan was saying. So he tried to latch onto the words and follow their suggestions. Mark forced his hand away from his mouth so he could take several deep breaths. Had this been just a month ago, they might have been in trouble, but he was better at pulling _himself_ back now. He focused on Dan’s face and his voice; it was no Jack, but it was better than the echo of his own thoughts.

The initial breaths helped to stop him from retching any further and provided him with a window of clarity. Dan was right: Jack _wasn't_ there. It was just the two of them. Jack hadn't been present for a single word of Mark’s roundabout “confession”. Nothing had changed, yet. It was safe, he hadn't ruined _everything._ He breathed again and it was a little easier. Eyes re-focusing, Mark looked to Dan and actively saw him this time. He gave a shaky nod. “Y-yeah, yeah I… please. Just let me….” He scooted closer to Dan in the grass and released his hand for the first time. Taking a moment to prepare himself for the friction of physical contact, Mark leaned in to hesitantly wrap arms around the taller man. He felt better initiating the hug and though his grip started out light and unsure, his cuddly nature rapidly pushed aside his bubbling anxieties in favor of a real embrace. Mark’s arms stayed hovering around the bottoms of Dan’s shoulder blades and his mid-back; safe. He knew not to go lower, and he didn't dare touch his neck. Due to the size difference his cheek ended up pressed into Dan’s shoulder and he tried to keep breathing. It was weird, hugging someone other than Jack or his brother and that thought made him a little sad.

Dan folded his arms around Mark. He kept his hands and arms safely in the middle of Mark's back, nowhere near the favorite torture spots. His hold was tight enough to feel, but not so constricting as to make Mark feel trapped. Dan knew exactly the sort of hug he could give Mark, because it was the only sort of hug he could really tolerate himself.

“Phil always hates it when I say I don't deserve him,” Dan said. “When I'm in a dark place and lash out at him: why is he even bothering with me? Can't he see how _broken_ I am? Why is he letting me weigh him down? He should just leave, should go away and live a full life without my misery.” Dan closed his eyes, very lightly rubbing Mark's back.

The sample questions Dan said for Mark resonated with him instantly. They were all thoughts he'd experienced himself; things he'd asked Jack, on occasion, though obviously with friendly connotations instead of romantic ones. It stunned him a little, to hear words he'd thought or said hundreds of times fall from Dan’s lips like the other had read his mind. He held onto Dan a bit tighter but resisted the urge to bury his face in the Brit’s shoulder. As intimately as they were connecting through their trauma Mark just felt that might be crossing a line- if not for Dan, then himself. Dan wasn't Jack or Thomas.

Dan continued, “Of course he can see my damage, he says. But he's not giving me anything less than I'd give him if our situations were reversed. He's actually doing so much _more_ , because he's better at the whole caretaking thing than I _ever_ was… But he's right. If it were Phil kidnapped and tortured and dumped on my doorstep, I wouldn't think twice about still loving him and caring for him, helping him heal. I'd _never_ think he no longer deserved me. And I'm sure… I'm sure Jack's the same way with you, Mark. If he was the one taken and dumped in L.A., wouldn't you be helping him? Would you think less of him, for what happened to him?”

Dan knew exactly where Mark was coming from in terms of a diminished sense of self worth. The Ship Sinker had torn them both down to be little more than objects; things to be used for entertainment and never deserving of care beyond keeping them alive and functioning. If there was anyone he was going to listen to on this subject, it was probably Dan. Mark dug his fingertips into the back of Dan’s turtleneck and heaved a sigh that shuddered down to his ribs. He allowed his body to curl up and tuck a bit more snugly against the larger man’s. “No… no, of course not, even if I didn't… didn't love him, I'd…. I'd want to protect him. Keep him safe. Help him get better again and reassure him he deserves the world and even more, no matter what those assholes drilled into his head. I…

“...I never thought of it like that, before….” Mark half-mumbled into Dan’s shoulder, but that confidence boost did nothing for his newfound problem: _he loved Jack._ What was he supposed to do now? “...are you sure he likes me that way? I…. What if I say something, and it turns out he doesn't? Or that he stopped? Or- or what if, he thinks it's just an effect of my trauma? What if he doesn't believe me?? What if it _is_ because of my trauma even if I would have kissed him before I don't… w-we don't want to….” They couldn't give those men what they wanted; what they'd been cultivating Mark for. He was so terrified of Jack turning him down because of what he'd been through- though the Irishman had every right.

“I don’t really know Jack all that well,” Dan said, settling back against the tree with Mark in his arms. “So I can’t speak for him with any sort of guarantee. But if he _doesn’t_ love you, at least as his very best friend, even if not in a romantic way, then I’ll… I’ll eat my shoe.”

Mark snorted softly at Dan’s promise. “I'm holding you to that.” He needed the little bite of humor, though. It made it easier to swallow the uncomfortable advice Dan was feeding him; a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.

“And if it’s not a romantic type of love for him, because he _does_ love you, he’ll… he won’t hurt you. He _shouldn’t_. He wouldn’t lead you on. If you told him and he didn’t feel the same, he wouldn’t lie to you. And if he _does_ think it’s just because of your trauma, or if you think it’s because of your trauma… Mark, you’d need to talk to him about that. Really talk. One of those hard, uncomfortable talks. You’ve had them with him before, right? Not about this, obviously, but like… you’ve had nightmares?” Dan tilted up the end of the sentence into a question as if he were asking, but he really considered it completely obvious. Of _course_ Mark had nightmares. “Do you talk to him about them? Tell him what your mind fears, what triggers set you off? It’ll be like one of those talks. Hard and embarrassing and best if you have something to fidget with… but ultimately, you’ll both be better off for it.”

“I know he'd never hurt me on purpose…. Or lie to me.” Mark wasn't concerned about those things. It was the reactions Jack _could_ have; reactions he'd given Mark or others in the past. He let his eyes unfocus again as he stared off into the garden away from Dan. Now that they'd gotten past their initial anxieties, he felt comfortable in the casual embrace. “And I know we need to talk. I think… we've been trying. A few times. It's like we keep skirting around the topic; almost getting there but then one of us loses our nerve, or something happens. We… I think it almost happened, right here. Back when Tom was still visiting. It felt like…”

He lightly shook his head against Dan’s shoulder. “We’re both just so scared of screwing up the good thing we have going. I know that's it. Talking about my nightmares… I can only do that sometimes. And it's not even a lasting conversation unless we discover a new trigger or something. But confessing… figuring out how this could work or how we feel about each other, that… there's no taking that back. Or going on like nothing was ever said. It would change everything in some way; big or small, good or bad. It's the bad and the big we're worried about.” Mark knew something _did_ have to change. For the past few weeks there'd been a newfound awkwardness lingering between Jack and himself; unspoken words and hidden feelings they both could see but not decipher- not without the distinct possibility of being wrong. It was making them uncomfortable with each other, gradually but more and more noticeably every day. It needed to stop before it spiraled beyond their control.

“We don’t want them to win.” Dan sighed and gave Mark a little squeeze. “That’s the most important thing. We don’t want _them_ to win, to control our lives. But Mark, they didn’t… you can’t tell me that the things they did to you in that room were designed to push you and Jack into a happy, loving relationship. They made a mockery of what Phil and I had. They… _pretended_ to ship us, but really, they were trying to drive us apart. They _did_ drive Troyler apart. Reaching out to Jack, loving him… that’s not what they’d want at all. At _all_. Jack was supposed to get you to the hospital and then be too disgusted to ever want anything to do with you again. He wasn’t supposed to take a hiatus to sit by your side, or find this perfect little house to move you to so you could heal in privacy. He wasn’t supposed to stand by you and support you and help you heal, wasn’t supposed to bring your dog halfway around the world or bring us together… already, this is so far from what they’d want from your life. Spit in their faces and keep pushing for more happiness. It’s the best way to piss them off. Or so says Phil.”

Dan was right- well, Phil was. Both of them. Mark and Jack didn't want to play into the Ship Sinker’s hands. They didn't want to prove they were right or had left a lasting effect on them. They were both afraid at the mere concept of going beyond friendship because of the connotations the kidnappers had laid out for it. Belatedly, Mark realized that's all they were. Sick, twisted fantasies projected onto them by a few strangers. People who knew _nothing_ about them beyond their channels and Internet stardom. Mark knew Jack. Mark knew Jack as closely as he'd known his lifelong friends, now, and Jack knew Mark more intimately than he ever planned to. Those men did too, but not in the ways that _mattered._ Mark and Jack had been trying so hard to not let the Ship Sinker’s games get to them that it actually backfired. They'd been holding themselves back- for what? Because some freaks said their relationship was meant to be toxic? Mark breathed.

“Fuck that.” It was quiet, at first, then he raised his voice as he repeated the words. “Fuck that.” Mark pulled back from Dan but didn't shake off the other’s arms just yet. “And fuck _them._ They can't… they can't tell us what's right. Or how things should be. They can't _control_ us. Not anymore. I… I love… Jack. I love Jack.” He said the words with a bit of giddy awe in his tone. Now that he was verbalizing the feeling, anxiety and discomfort was shifting to something bubblier; lighter. Almost… excited? He released a little huff of air. “I love Jack.” He paused. “...oh crap, I love Jack. I _love_ Jack oh Hell oh balls what do I do??”

Dan stayed quiet as Mark worked through his realization. He chuckled as Mark pulled back with a look of awe and shock in his face, professing his love for the green-haired Irishman. “You should probably tell _him_ that,” Dan advised. “You said the two of you had been dancing around the topic for a while now? As in both him and you, and not just you?” Dan raised an eyebrow, meeting Mark’s dark eyes with his own. “Mark… don’t you think that might imply he feels _exactly the same way_? Again, you know him better than I do, but…”

“I… I probably should, yeah… yeah….” Now? No. _No._ Later? Maybe. Maybe later. Sounded like a plan. (How much “later” was anyone’s guess.) Mark rubbed a bit bashfully at the back of his neck and pulled further from Dan. Now that he wasn’t panicking or having a crisis, he felt comfortable enough to break up their hug- unless Dan wanted it to linger, of course. He wanted to support the other just as much. “I mean… I think…? I dunno. I always just thought… I was reading too much into it. Or too wishfully, I guess, looking back on it now…. I could’ve totally been misreading every situation. Jack and I are pretty… affectionate. When I can handle it. I always thought it was just platonic….” He sighed and slumped a bit; torn. “Now I’m not so sure….”

Dan let Mark go when he started to pull back. “You know what I think,” he said with a little shrug. “Next step is up to you. But I'm always around if you need to talk. You've got my Skype, right?”

“Yeah, I think Jack gave it to me when he mentioned you two were coming over.” In case Mark wanted to contact Dan beforehand (or Phil; Jack gave him that one too). He pushed back until he was sitting in his spot on the grass again and let out a breath. “I might take you up on that. And, you know, you can always hit me up if you need to. Even if it's years later, it… never really goes away, so… yeah. If I can help, I will.” He managed an appreciative smile for the Brit. “Thanks, Dan. For all of this. I… guess I just really needed to talk to someone that understood…. I'm grateful you wanted to come all the way out here.”

“We have to support each other,” Dan agreed with a nod. “Spit in their faces.”

“Wow, y'know, if it wasn't for Mark’s dark hair and his sultry voice I never would have found you two in here. These branches are _thick._ ” Phil’s teasing voice broke through their little bubble. He pulled back some of the willow branches to create a part in the leafy curtain and beamed at them. “Not interrupting anything, am I? Jack’s brewing us up some tea so I figured I'd come check on you.”

When Phil parted the branches, Dan looked up and his whole expression softened. Some of the constant underlying tension melted away, and he smiled at his boyfriend. “I think a cuppa is _exactly_ what we need right now. What do you say, Mark?” He glanced back at him, letting Mark decide if they were ready to rejoin their other halves.

Both British boys were looking at Mark, and he had to tear his gaze away from Dan rather quickly. He'd just gotten caught up in the subtle shift that occurred once Dan looked to Phil. Like he was suddenly safer and more at ease. Did Mark look at Jack like that? Was that the kind of expression everyone kept telling him he'd gotten several times in his birthday vlog? He needed to go back and rewatch it, but for now tea with his possibly-more-than-a-best-friend and two new ones sounded perfect.

“I guess I can indulge you guys and your tea craze.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	69. This sucks

So I'm sure all you guys have noticed the unusual update today by Fantismal on Gold (or you would if you've been reading both as we told you to :P). I've been at work, but I noticed everyone's skepticism in the comments via mobile. I'm on my break so I figured I'd help to dispel any disbelief.

Unfortunately you guys, it's true. Fantismal messaged me about it this morning and it was honestly devastating. I would've posted something about it myself if I wasn't in the middle of work.

Technically, this has been a long time coming, as we've been struggling with Kintsugi for a while now. All the things Fantismal explained as issues are a little exaggerated, but basically true. At some point, Kintsugi got too big for us to handle, I guess.

I was willing to give it a shot and persevere but Fantismal just can't do it. :( Sorry everybody. I just can't continue this without her. She's Jack. Can't have Septiplier without the SepticEye.

So, yeah. We won't be continuing Kintsugi. Sorry everybody. :/

This sucks.


	70. 7/11: Talks and Triggers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark almost clams up again, but this time he's determined to do it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April Fool's!!! Hahaha!
> 
> Boy, we really got some of you but man, at least half of you guys were more than ready to call us out on our BS. I'm impressed.
> 
> I'm especially amused by the people who recalled the story is, indeed, finished and so there is absolutely no reason we'd be stressed with still writing it or giving up on a "plot variance" lmao. Kudos.
> 
> (Granted, as Fantismal mentioned in her update, the things she listed as being issues are in reality more... experiments, we couldn't resist doing some writing for. >u> They were good, but will never affect the actual story.)
> 
> Of course, also like Fantismal mentioned, things have been a little crazy as of late. My grandma actually passed away about two weeks ago and just last week we had to put down one of our cats. It was a very emotional, turbulent March for me. Which is why I'm so glad we had this story already done and set to post! And that we're posting it at all, because your comments honestly cheered me up so much during those sad times. I can never tell you all how grateful I am for the love and support, for knowing how happy we've made so many of our readers, and thank you for putting up with our pranking crap. XD You guys are awesome. Never stop. (And be sure to give Fantismal some "get well soon" wishes!)
> 
> Like Fantismal, I'll also be responding to all those comments you guys left on the last chapter. You have no idea how much it killed me to just respond with emotes. (And it was MY idea!) Give me some time, I promise I'll get to everybody. For now, take a peek at how things went from Mark's perspective... ;)

Dan and Phil stayed for dinner (glamorous Chinese take-away), and Jack escorted them back to the train station to catch the last train to Dublin. Dan gave Mark a hug before he left, and Phil gave one to Jack. The Brits had left Mark feeling lighter and heavier with his emotions all at once; the focus had just ended up shifting to something else. Well, _someone_ else.

By the time Jack returned home, Mark had cleaned up dinner and gotten ready for bed. Jack grabbed his pyjamas and went to change in the bathroom. When he returned, Mark was in bed, still awake, watching Jack as he dumped his clothes in the hamper and approached the bed. He sat on the edge, about to swing his legs up, but then he stopped.

Mark was confused for only a second before he realized what was probably going on and sat up as well. Would Jack be able to speak up first, or would Mark need to break the silence?

Jack looked over his shoulder at Mark, biting at his lip. "Are you...uh… Are you really tired?"

"No...." Mark drew a breath. "Jack... Sean, I...."

"We should probably..." Jack was fidgeting with the drawstring on his pants. He stopped, drawing his legs up under him instead. "We should probably...talk. About...stuff. Phil...helped a lot."

Mark kept trying to look at Jack, but it was hard. The conversation topic was just too nerve-wracking and awkward for his gaze to linger long. At least from the glimpses he managed, Jack looked just as anxious as he felt. That helped him feel a little better- but not by much. He swallowed while his fingers toyed with a few stray threads on the duvet pooled in his lap. "We should. Dan... helped me too. About a lot of things. Stuff we... probably should've addressed a lot sooner, honestly." He paused as a bit of guilt curled around his insides. "...I'm sorry. Sorry I kept putting this off; derailing every chance we got I just... I was scared." Mark had to swallow a lot of his newly regained pride to admit that and his ears went a little pink.

Jack took a deep breath, still sitting on the edge of the bed, back to Mark. "I...I'm scared too, Mark. I'm scared that saying this stuff...won't help anything. Will make things worse. Make you feel uncomfortable, and I... No matter what, Mark," Jack twisted around to face him, expression serious, " _no matter what,_ you _are_ safe here. I'd never, _never_ do anything to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I'd never ask you for anything you weren't willing to give. Okay? I...your sense of security here is the absolute most important thing right now."

Mark finally had the courage to stare Jack full in the face. How could he not after hearing that? Jack placed Mark's comfort and security above all else- even his own happiness- without a flicker of hesitation. He felt the familiar tugging on his heartstrings and now had a name for it, though labeling the sensation was making his stomach flip-flop again with anxiety. He squeezed at the duvet and swallowed it down. "I don't want to ruin what we have. But I'm pretty sure Phil told you what Dan told me, and they were right. We can't let this linger between us or it'll drive us apart anyway." That sounded so much more painful than what they were attempting to do now.  
  
After a pause to consider his options, Mark tentatively scooted a bit closer to Jack on the bed. His gaze had dropped to his lap again but the hand nearest his roommate was within reach now. "I'm uncomfortable now, Jack. Holding all this in and trying to pretend nothing's changed. I can't sit and talk with you anymore without hyper analyzing everything- including myself. It's driving me crazy. I know I'm safe here; safe with you. Always safe with you.... You have more of my trust than anyone right now, Jack, believe me. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose." He looked back to Jack with a soft, open, vulnerable expression and extended his hand, palm up and outstretched invitingly.  
  
"You are my security, Jack. Even if we moved, it'd be okay, because the house is only part of my security because you live here with me. You're the core of it, Jack. You have been since the hospital, and I don't know what I would have done without you.... Please come over here. I want to touch you; it'll help my nerves. Please."

Jack moved as soon as Mark asked him to, turning to face Mark fully. His hand slipped into Mark's like it belonged there and their fingers laced together automatically.  
  
Mark squeezed Jack's hand and immediately felt his confidence bolster. His resolve strengthened as well because how could he not confess to loving someone who made him feel so safe? He glanced over their hands without bothering to let his gaze linger on the same stark contrasts he'd seen time and time again. Mark would rather follow the line of Jack's arm to his face. Absorb every crease in the skin, the furrow of bushy brows, how blue eyes shone in the lamplight. Jack might not have looked Mark in the eye when he spoke, but there was no change in his expression; no minute tell giving away a lie or hidden intentions. Mark knew when Jack was lying by now, he just ignored it sometimes.  
  
Jack looked down at their joined hands. "I love you," Jack whispered, still staring. "Not...Not as a friend. Not for a while now. I...I'm sorry."

Now wasn't one of those times. Jack was being honest with his feelings. He couldn't look at Mark, but apologized. For loving him? Mark was immediately shaking his head. It was further proof they'd been letting the Ship Sinker rule their thinking, that Jack would feel the need to apologize for the simple act of loving him. No more. Mark focused on the warm giddiness bubbling up in his chest and grasped onto it. He let it fuel his cognitive direction and his words as he watched Jack's face. He craved to see Jack’s reaction and sear it into his memory; good or bad.  
  
"Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry for that, Jack. I..." He took a breath. "...I love you too. I do. Not as a friend. Or even a best friend, or a roommate. And no, as much as I appreciate all the kindness you've showed me, that's not why I love you." Mark's eyes finally dropped with a tiny, bashful smile. "I love you because you're you, and I think I have for a long time now without completely understanding it. I'm sorry."

Jack looked up sharply at Mark's confession, his breath stuttering. He swallowed thickly and squeezed Mark's hand back. "You... you do?"

Jack looked so stunned, Mark couldn't even be upset when he questioned what he'd heard. Really, he just felt a little sad. Not that Jack would doubt him, but that Jack found it so hard to believe Mark could possibly return his affections. Had he truly been such a blind, insensitive prickhole? Jack would say no but Mark knew he could be that way sometimes. Trauma hadn't changed that.  
  
Still, this was supposed to be a happy conversation. _They both loved each other! Hurrah!_ Mark tried to keep up his smile for Jack regardless of any negative thoughts. His grip on the Irishman's hand was tight. "I do. Really, I do. I'm not just saying it to make you happy, I promise. I... Dan helped me sort things out today. He gave me a perspective I didn't know I needed to finally stop denying how I felt.... How you've felt about me.... I'm sorry, Jack, sorry it took me so long." He kept apologizing. Mark couldn't help it. He felt compelled to since he knew it was his own fault it took them so long to get these important words out. He'd practically sabotaged them time and time again- purposefully or otherwise.

“Stop…” Jack sidled closer to Mark, lifting his free hand and pressing a finger to Mark’s mouth. “Shh. Stop saying you’re sorry. I don’t… Mark… You don’t have to…”

Mark started a bit at the quiet request- command?- and blinked up at Jack. The word usage probably could have slid by if Jack didn’t proceed to back it up with physical contact- _command_. It wasn’t even the good, _safe_ kind. Mark went dead still when Jack touched his lips in the universal “shush” gesture. He might have even stopped breathing, for a moment. Old fears came creeping up his spine as Jack continued to shush him with his words. He wanted to laugh because Jack didn’t even need to say more, he’d had Mark silent from the moment he touched his mouth. (He also wanted to cry for the same reason.) The only thing that stopped Mark from dissolving into a full blown panic attack was the use of his name; it jarred his brain out of recreating his situation in the room.

Jack’s finger traced along the curve of Mark’s smile, and he snatched his hand back. “Sorry.”

However, the damage was done and worsened before Jack could pull his hand back. When Mark felt the feather light trace of a fingertip along his lips the apology became a muffled distortion in a sea of discomfort and painful memories.

_Stop,_ **_Markimoo._ ** _Shhh,_ **_Markimoo._ ** _Stop apologizing, it’s pathetic and it’s not going to save you._ **_Dogs don’t speak unless commanded to do so._ **

A tense, agonized breath shuddered out of him and he pulled away from Jack on impulse. He retracted his hand and curled in on himself. Mark ducked his head to hide his mouth behind his knees, but kept his eyes above them to watch Jack warily. He was ruining it, again. It didn’t matter if Jack unintentionally triggered it; Mark was derailing their efforts to just come clean with each other. _Again._ Even before he panicked, he’d fucked up with his words. Jack was doubting him- would doubt him _even more_ now. Dan had made it all sound so _simple._ He should have known better, should have anticipated he’d fuck it up, should…

He should respond. He _should,_ but Jack had told him to stop; to shush. Had told him with words and fingers and Mark was compelled to listen. Being asked a question wasn’t the same as being told to speak. His tormentors had gotten him with that twisted logic more than once in the past and he wasn’t going to take the risk now. Mark just watched Jack; wound taut like a stretched rubber band as his voice swelled and died like some vocal tide in his throat.

“...shit.” Jack scooted back from Mark, giving him space. “I’m sorry, Mark,” he said, setting his hands palm-up in front of him, so Mark could see them, see that Jack wasn’t about to hit him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, Mark. Can… are you still with me? Do you want me to get Chica? Or even just Chica Junior? She’s right there on the nightstand, Mark. You can hug her. I’m sure she’ll love the love.”

Mark twitched the moment Jack moved, but he relaxed when he realized it was a backwards motion. His eyes flicked down to Jack’s hands and then back to his face; he knew that gesture. It had been a while since Jack was forced to use it, but he’d never forget their initial form of physical contact. His fingers shifted a little against his pants, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch Jack again- not yet. The apologies helped, now that he could actually pay attention to them. So did Jack’s various offers for comfort- none of which included him. Mark mulled the ideas over in his head. Chica was likely asleep in her crate by now. He didn’t want to disturb her when he wasn’t even panicking that badly. Chica Junior, on the other hand…

“Mark, remember, you’re safe here. Above everything else, you are safe. You’re at home, you’re in your bed, you’re _safe,_ Mark. I promise. You’re safe.”

Mark slowly uncurled an arm from around his legs and reached blindly off to the side; groping at the space above the nightstand. He never once took his eyes off Jack. Eventually, Mark felt soft fur and seconds later he had the plush cuddled up between his chest and his knees. He squished the toy and felt minutely better.

 _You’re safe here._ He was in their cabin. In _Ireland._ In the countryside, with only Jack and himself surrounded by old wooden walls and a beautiful garden.

 _You’re at home._ He was in the room he shared with Jack- _you’re in your bed._ Jack, who was sitting there looking guilty and ashamed and concerned with his hands extended in pure surrender to Mark.

_You’re safe, Mark. I promise. You’re safe._

The Irish-accented words shoved the ones of his abusers out of his mind and Mark released another shaky breath. He squeezed Chica Junior again and allowed his gaze to waver- just a little. His mouth opened and closed once, twice; gaping like a fish where it was still hidden behind Chica Junior’s golden fur. The first sound Mark coaxed out was a hoarse squeak that made him falter. It was at least ten seconds later when actual words fell from his lips. “...I… I can talk…? I can. Talk. I can talk… okay. Okay, okay.” He took another deep breath. “I… sorry, I just… when you…. I freaked out. I’m sorry. I just keep ruining everything I’m absolutely terrible _why do you keep loving me?_ ” It was his turn to sound stunned with disbelief as he looked to Jack questioningly.

Jack winced slightly. “No, Mark, _I’m_ sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you there, I know it’s not allowed. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I’m sorry.

“Mark, I’ve never… I’ve had a crush on you _forever_ , but I never considered it _love_ until… until these past few months. Not...not-platonic love, at least. I, you… _look_ at yourself, Mark! Look what you just did! You were triggered, but you didn’t… you didn’t have a full-blown attack, you didn’t really need me to talk you out of it, you were able to get Chica Junior on your own and I haven’t even held your hand! You get better every day, Mark, stronger and more sure of yourself again, and… and I admire that so much. I’m so fucking proud of you every time you do something like that, and I just… how can I _not_ keep loving you? You’re _amazing_.”

Mark’s gaze shifted off to the side. Jack always spoke of him with such pride and adoration, as if Mark had found the cure for cancer or single-handedly brought peace to Earth but he couldn’t even surpass his own fears and scars. Mark didn’t really see how becoming “normal” again was something to be applauded. It should be expected. Except, he used to tell his fans the same thing all the time before he was kidnapped; that they shouldn’t let what they’d been through define them. How they should persevere and keep trying their best to be happy even if they felt they didn’t deserve it.

He deserved to be happy, though. Dan had reminded Mark to put Jack in his shoes whenever he started to doubt that; doubt _himself._ Jack deserved happiness in his life so he knew Jack would want the same of him, it was just difficult to grasp from his own skewed perspective. Mark also knew Jack wouldn’t lie to him. That was what mattered the most. If Jack said something, then it was true and he _meant it._ Plain and simple; no exceptions. Mark couldn’t deny Jack had a point. He _had_ recovered better than he would have, say, even a month ago. Back in the hospital, something like that would have made him shut down entirely. Now, Mark was able to keep his distance from Jack and utilize other tools to bring himself back from the brink. It _was_ progress. Even if in hindsight it didn’t really feel like it, because he still _broke down._

Mark kept Chica Junior snuggled close and tight in his arms as he looked at Jack again. This time, there was only confusion and longing in his gaze. However, there was also a determined furrow to his brow. “I… I forgive you, Jack…. Of course I do. I know it was an accident, I…. I… Jack, please, don’t get the wrong idea from what I’ve been saying and doing. _Please._ I meant it when I said I loved you.” His ears went a bit pink at the words he could still hardly believe he was saying. “I’ve never been… _good,_ at talking about my feelings. You know that. I spout really dumb crap and start getting introspective and sulky and stupid and I just… I _want_ you to believe me. I don’t want you to think I don’t feel as strongly as you do. The only reason I’m so upset on the inside is because every time we try to fucking do this, I mess it up. _Every time._ Just look at right now! And _no,_ don’t even say you were the cause, Jack. I was fucking it up waaaay before you accidentally triggered me and _you know it._ I… I feel like…. When you were surprised, that I actually returned your feelings, I…. I thought… what kind of signals have I been giving him? How have I been treating him if it’s so hard to believe I might… that I could _love him?_ ”

“No, Mark, no, that’s not…” Jack shook his head, curling his fingers up. “Mark, I wasn’t surprised because you were giving off the wrong signals. I just… Phil told me you were being just as obvious as I was, and… and so did Tom, actually, and it’s not like I was _oblivious,_ I just…” Jack drew his arms into his lap, dipping his head and glancing off to the side.

“Mark… when I said I had a crush on you _forever_ , I meant… I meant from as long as I’ve known you were a person. From your very first videos that I saw, taking forever to buffer on a crappy connection in a cabin in the woods. I didn’t even know what you _looked_ like, and I was… having some very confused nights. And then we actually _met_ , and…” Jack huffed a little under his breath. “And then I knew it was never gonna go away. But it was manageable. It was never ‘oh my god gotta bone him now,’ it was just… I liked being near you. The closer, the better. When you did stupid things, I’d think they were adorable. Sometimes, I’d just… just really want to kiss you. Not even make out, just…” Jack pressed his fists into his thighs and squeezed his eyes shut.

Mark stared at Jack a bit wide-eyed over the fluff of Chica Junior tucked up beneath his chin. He was admittedly a bit stunned. How should he react to something like that? Finding out this person, this friend and possibly more, had been enthralled by him even before Mark knew Jack existed. Of course there were probably hundreds, maybe thousands of others in the same boat as Jack but Mark hadn’t become _friends_ with them. He hadn’t reached out and immediately clicked and then proceeded down a path to something _greater_ with them. It was different with his other friends. Bob and Wade, he’d known them since before YouTube. Tyler was on his level, and Ethan was like the little brother he’d never had. People like the Grumps and Felix hadn’t exactly been his idols (well, maybe the Grumps to some extent), but they’d been above him before. (Okay, he still considered them to be above him in some aspects, but in a more human way now.) Jack was different. Jack was someone who had come up in the wake of footsteps Mark had already taken. Someone who had worked hard to reach Mark’s level and then _surpassed it._

Jack had always been a fan, but he hadn’t been _just a fan_ in so long. Sometimes, Mark forgot just how deep a fan’s adoration and love could get. Suddenly, Jack was a prime example _and_ a stark reminder. To think Jack had crushed on a young Mark to the point of dreaming about him made his heartbeat quicken a little. So many years. How many of them had Jack been suffering with his crush in silence? How many little acts or words Mark took all as part of the big joke had been laced with sincerity? Did Jack cherish those “Septiplier moments”, or only feel more pain from them? Hurt by the idea of his wishes being futile and his dreams never amounting to more than a running gag played up for laughs and fan squeals. Mark’s heart tripped up in its pace and broke some. “Jack….”

“It’s not that I didn’t believe you,” Jack said. “I just… when you’ve wished something that long, and then it happens… it doesn’t matter _how_ believable it is, it just doesn’t feel entirely real. You know?”

Mark felt really, really stupid. If he’d been so easily misreading Jack then it was no wonder he confused his own simmering feelings for the Irishman. How many times had Mark shrugged off a little flutter in his chest or a stomach flip when Jack did something cute or endearing? How many instances had his actions been more than a joke? Had Mark’s heart played so eagerly into “Septiplier” because it had been wanting an authentic version all along? The questions were making Mark’s head spin from so much doubt and second guessing of his own memories. Mark knew he was on the verge of giving himself a headache. Stubbornly, he wormed a hand away from Chica Junior to grasp at Jack’s; closed his fingers around curled knuckles and held on. His face was a storm of conflict but there were streaks of devotion in his eyes as he watched their clasped hands, his words resolute. “I’m sorry it took me so long to accept how you really felt about me. I’m… I’m an idiot, and I never know where the joke ends, and… and I’ve been pushing aside my own feelings because I didn’t understand them, either.”

Brown eyes lifted to meet blue and Mark drew a steadying breath. “But I know now. For both of us. I know what those feelings are.” The pressure in his chest was stifling. “I love you. I might’ve for a very long time now and I’m sorry, Sean. For trying to pretend it wasn’t real.”

Jack opened his eyes and looked up when Mark covered his hand, meeting his dark gaze. “Mark…” Jack turned his hand over, slowly unfolding it so he could take Mark’s again. He didn’t move closer, didn’t move to touch Mark in any other way. This was their only point of contact. “Mark, it’s not… it’s not like I was _trying_ to let you know. Quite the opposite, actually. I just wanted to be your friend. I didn’t want to fuck things up between us. Ever.”

“Yeah… yeah, after the last few weeks, I… I get that. Sorta. I just… there’s always those tells in the movies and stuff. And everyone else apparently saw it, so… I guess I just feel a little bit dumb.” Then again, Jack hadn’t known Mark loved him back, so maybe they were _both_ dumb. They could both be dumb _together._ That wasn’t so bad. He hid a smile in Chica Junior’s fur. “You didn’t fuck things up between us.” At least, it didn’t _feel_ fucked up. Hopefully that remained a constant.

Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers and looked down at their clasped hands. “I… what do we do now?”

Jack had a point. They’d confessed; they were holding hands. Everything should be right as rain in the world but it felt as if almost _nothing_ had changed at all. They still loved each other, it was just out in the open now. Everything else they were doing had been precursors to the confession. What _were_ they supposed to do now? Mark rubbed at the back of Jack’s hand with his thumb while he searched his brain for some kind of answer. “Well… I mean… whenever people confess to each other in movies or games or books, they… they usually kiss or something. Or their lives are all ‘happily ever after’ and they move in together to be all domestic but… fuck.” They were already _doing that too._ “I think we did the steps out of order.”

Jack laughed a little, twisting their hands so he could lace their fingers together again. “So, let’s see. Meet, fall in love, confess, kiss, move in together, have babies? We… fell in love, at least I did, then met, moved in together, had babies--the tatertots--and confessed? I guess kiss is the only thing we _haven’t_ done… fuck, Mark, are you supposed to kiss before or after you start sleeping together?”

“Oh my god.” Mark released Chica Junior fully so he could bury his face in his free hand. She remained caught up between his knees and chest as he tried to hide his exasperated smile. “We’re a mess. An absolute clusterfuck of a romance right here. I don’t think they could write fanfiction of us this muddled up, Jack.” There was a bemused giddiness in his tone though and he was smiling behind his fingers.

“Do you… uh… do you want to? Kiss?”

Jack’s question helped bring Mark back from slight hysteria. He sighed and let his hand slide down to reveal his eyes again. Gently, he let his fingers rest over his lips and focused on the physical sensation of something touching them. Briefly, he recalled how Jack had traced his smile earlier and had to repress a shiver. “No.” It came out a bit more abrupt and forceful than he meant it to and Mark winced, dropping his hand. “I mean, no. I don’t… I don’t think I could do that, right now. Not yet. Maybe… maybe we can try later? I just…” He sighed again. “Sorry….”

“No, hey, it’s okay.” Jack shook his head and squeezed Mark’s hand again. “I told you at the start. Your comfort comes first. And I did...sorta screw that up already.” He sighed and gave Mark a lopsided smile. “Want to try… just sleeping? It’s been a long day.”

Mark looked to Jack with a bit of a pout but accepted the reassurance. It was easier to let Jack have his way when the Irishman was shooting him an adorable smile like that. He could already feel his own wanting to curl up the edges of his mouth and he squeezed at Jack’s hand with a soft snort. “You mean cuddling together in bed but without all the forced platonic pretenses?”

“You know, for someone who had no idea what was going on, you sure are a cuddly bastard,” Jack retorted. “‘Gee, Mark, maybe we should put up a wall so I don’t cuddle you?’ ‘No way, cuddles!’” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have to start cuddling if you don’t want to,” he said with more seriousness. “Or… we could if you do. Your call how platonic we’re gonna pretend to be.”

Mark’s smile turned sheepish and he shrugged. “Hey, c’mon, you _knew_ I was a cuddly person. I’m a gentle soul! Plus you’re warm.” He looked down at the covers and just focused on the sensation of their interlocked fingers for a few moments. “Let’s just… lay down, and see where things go. Sound good?” They usually ended up cuddled together by morning anyway.

Jack nodded, pulling his hand away from Mark’s so he could crawl up the bed beside him. He pulled the duvet over his legs and laid down on his pillow, but this time, on his side facing Mark. “I love you,” he whispered.

Mark’s heart floated some in his chest and he was quick to wiggle back under the covers. He carefully set Chica Junior on his other side because for once, he wanted _nothing_ between them. Just sheets and empty air as he rolled over to look at Jack in the dim light. Jack, who had a blinding smile on his face that made all of Mark’s insides completely forget how to function. The hand on his pillow curled into a fist and he desperately mustered up a reply over the distinct hitch in his breath. “I love you.” It came easy, then, and settled comfortably beneath Mark’s tongue. “Night, Jack.”

“Good night, Mark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	71. 7/26: Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a few impromptu steps they really weren't prepared for.

Not much had changed with their relationship after that night of confessions and cuddling. They woke the next morning tangled up in a jumble of limbs just as they had all the days before. Except this time, there was no guilt. There was no hesitation or doubt or discomfort on either end because they both knew the truth. They could lay there in the weak light of morning with dopey smiles and tousled hair. Mark could still recall how warm he felt, inside and out, snuggled up beneath the duvet and Jack’s arms. He’d stared into sleepy blue eyes and felt a swell of affection that had his head dipping forward before he could stop himself.

The kiss was short- scarcely a second- and sweet. Just a little peck on a stubbly cheek because Jack looked so _adorable,_ so endearing where he lay tucked up beneath Mark’s arms. He just couldn’t help himself now that he understood the truth about their feelings. Of course, he immediately pulled back with a thick blush and looked off to the side as if it would declare his unquestionable innocence. Jack had reacted much the same, once the initial shock wore off, but with the added bonus of an enormous, stupid smile on his face. He’d also hugged Mark a bit tighter beneath the covers and it was more than enough reassurance for him.

The following days rolled along much the same. They still lived together, ate together, played together and slept _together._ They didn’t share any more kisses beyond the occasional smooch to a cheek or hand or wrist; the last one done by Mark in a fit of tenderness one night. Jack had almost died- probably. Otherwise, the physical aspect of their newfound relationship didn’t go anywhere. They just hugged and cuddled and lived together with a renewed sort of ease. The awkward doubts and confused analyzing weren’t an issue anymore. If they did something, it was out of love. There was nothing to hide and it felt as if some invisible weight had been removed from the entire cabin. Mark felt real peace.

Yet as life was wont to do with poor, unsuspecting mortals, it threw the fledgling couple a curveball. One they, admittedly, really should have seen coming eventually and prepared for. No one ever said they were good at foresight. (Especially Mark. Mark’s foresight was actually fore _blind._ )

Around two weeks after they finally confessed to each other, Mark woke abnormally early. Dawn wasn’t even _beginning_ to tip over the horizon but something had roused him from what had been a pretty nice dream. He couldn’t recall the details, however he knew it was far too early to get up. Jack was still pleasantly curled around him. If he was careful, he might be able to turn over and-

Mark made a soft sound as his legs shifted and immediately froze. He sunk incisors into his bottom lip as he tensed. ‘ _Oh fuck.’_ His brain _finally_ caught up with his body and provided an explanation for the awkward hardness between his legs: he had morning wood. _Serious_ morning wood. Mark must have been dreaming something _really nice_ because he was completely hard and rapidly discovering the area to be ultra-sensitive. He sucked in a tight, quick breath and tried not to move. It was _just_ a boner. Just a boner. He used to get them all the time; it was perfectly natural. _Jack_ had gotten one, for fuck’s sake. There was no need to panic. No need to freak out-

**_“Aw look, the pup’s happy to see us.”_ **

_‘Oh god no.’_ Mark mentally cursed as voices he’d been successfully staving off for weeks slithered back into his head. He’d been so _careful_ to avoid becoming excessively aroused for this exact reason. He knew, the moment he was healthy enough to sport an erection again without being forced, they would come back to haunt him. He was _scared._ Mark’s most recent memories of getting off were all in _that room_ with _those men._ Nothing but shame and pain and embarrassment as he was unraveled again and again in front of a roving camera lens. Mark felt the familiar terror and apprehension coil itself in his gut but still his dick throbbed needily, even as he started feeling nauseous from heavily reined anxiety.

**_“Naughty Markimoo, going and getting all excited without our permission. Thought we had you trained better than that.”_ **

_“I-I’m sorry… it just ha-happened….”_

**_“Did we say you could speak?”_ **

Jack was still sleeping. Jack was still clinging to him and cuddling; oblivious to Mark’s plight. He didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want Jack to see him like this, didn’t want a witness to his shame- again. Not Jack. Except Mark couldn’t run. Just like in the room, Jack had him trapped by limbs and hands. If he tried to get out of the bed Jack would surely notice. All he could do was lay there, press his thighs together and attempt to will his erection away. Mark swallowed hard to dispel a whimper and bit at his lip until it hurt; anything to distract himself from the ache below his waist, from the voices still taunting him in his head. ‘ _Go away, go away, just go away a little bit longer and it’ll be gone, it will, it’ll go away and Jack won’t know and I can go back to sleep just_ ** _go back to sleep please….’_**

Jack nuzzled in closer to Mark's neck and sighed. He mumbled something inarticulate and squeezed his arm around Mark’s waist. Nuzzling in a little closer, Jack fit a leg between Mark’s and snuggled _even tighter_.

 _‘No no no Jack please oh god he's so close I can feel his breath on my neck and his limbs are all over me and he's so soft and pliable and adorable and- GODFUCK-’_ Mark’s brain produced a stream of consciousness akin to a hardcore keyboard smash. His hips held the powerful urge to move but he stayed strong even as he began to sweat from the exertion- from the anxiety- still knowing if he tried to wriggle away he could wake up Jack and then all his efforts would be pointless. At the very back of his mind, the niggling voices of his tormentors continued.

**_“Bad dog, Markimoo. That's a bad, bad dog, getting off without us giving you permission. Speaking without our say so. Such a naughty dog. I know what you want. But you're going to have to beg for it now....”_ **

A soft, desperate whine slipped from his throat before he could catch it and his breath hitched. The sound echoed the same he had made back in the room, in the wake of their admonishments. Jack wasn’t scolding him for getting a boner but he was still there, sleeping away like a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. It took everything Mark had to choke down an agonized sob. ‘ _I can’t….’_

Jack stirred. “M’rk…?” He blinked his eyes open slowly, mumbling Mark’s name. “ _Shit._ ”

 _‘Damn it….’_ Jack was awake and Mark had no idea why he thought he could prevent it. Between how tense and trembling he was in Jack’s arms and the small, discomfited sounds that kept slipping out it was really only a matter of time. Jack’s voice was thick with sleep and his accent rolled around Mark’s name in a way that made his heart ache. Thankfully, it also jarred the stream of taunts being supplied by his memories of the Ship Sinker. Part of him couldn’t help but feel relieved.

Jack started to pull back slowly and carefully, hips and legs first, trying to detangle himself. “Mark, it’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay Mark, it’s just-” His words cut off abruptly.

Jack’s thigh dragged painfully slow against Mark’s dick and the moan that sprung up was unstoppable. Mark was immediately mortified and disgusted with himself. Since Jack had moved, he was finally able to clap both of his hands over his mouth in some effort to silence his traitorous vocal chords- not that it mattered. There was _no way_ Jack had missed the fact Mark was hard. Shame trickled in to join the current stew of negative emotions and he tried curling up a little beneath the covers as if it would conceal the known or help him just disappear entirely.

Jack’s eyes widened. He took a deep breath and slid his hand over to touch Mark’s arm, trailing his fingers down the covered muscles.

Mark flinched hard at Jack’s touch and once again, his guilt skyrocketed. Oh, how he hated his body sometimes.

“Mark, it’s okay. It’s just us here, Mark. It’s okay. This is okay. You’re safe, you’re at home, you’re in your bed, _our_ bed. It’s okay, Mark. I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

Jack was doing his best to stop Mark from getting lost in the memories; to comfort and reassure him. Mark was grateful, but it only helped so much when his dick was still throbbing impatiently between his legs. His trembling had worsened as he angled his body away from Jack. Not because he didn’t want his partner’s touch and soft words, but because it felt wrong to be so aroused beside him. Or aroused in general. The Ship Sinker had taken a natural part of his life and turned it into something ghastly; something tied into terror, pain and shame. Mark squeezed his thighs together tighter and muffled the resulting whine with his hands, all the while shaking his head. There were stifled murmurs of _“no, no, no”_ and _“not okay, it’s not okay it’s wrong wrong wrong”_ and _“Jack don’t look at me Jack, Jack please don’t look don’t look”._ The next sound trapped deep within his throat was a rough, dry sob.

“Mark, Mark, it's _okay_. It's okay. It's not wrong. It's good. It's _good._ ” Jack kept touching Mark's arm, rubbing gently. “Mark, I'm not looking. I promise, I'm not looking.”

“It’s not, it’s not, it’s _not,_ J-Jack, it’s not, how c-can you say that…?” Mark agonized in a hoarse whisper that slipped between slightly splayed fingers. He was practically curled into a fetal position by that point but still it did nothing to stave off his physical desires. Jack’s touch and words were a double-edged sword; comforting Mark while simultaneously spurring on his arousal. He _loved_ Jack. He’d wanted to kiss and touch and _hold_ him so many times. Sporting an erection, those tender thoughts shifted to something a bit more explicit and fresh shame welled up in his gut as he gave his head another shake. “No, no, no, no….”

“Mark, it's okay. I'm here. I love you. I'm right here.”

At least Jack wasn’t looking. Wasn’t watching him; staring; _judging_ the way _they_ always used to. The way the _world_ must have. Mark trusted Jack. If he said he wasn’t looking, then he wasn’t, but it was a small comfort. His breath hitched with the threat of another sob and he ducked his face fully into his hands. His fingertips pressed and dragged at what hair they could reach while his hips _shook_ with the urge to move. “I-I love you, l-love you, Jack… J-Jack, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it just happened I’m so sorry I didn’t want it, I _don’t_ want it please J-Jack I can’t…. I can’t, it’s _wr-wrong,_ I’m… I’m bad. _It’s_ bad. I’m… I’m a….” _Bad dog. Bad, bad dog._

“You are _not_ bad,” Jack said firmly. “You are _good_ , Mark, so good. And this is good too. It _is_.” Jack gave Mark's bicep a gentle squeeze before resuming his stroking.

“Mark, you are allowed to...to be hard. To get off. You're _allowed._ It's not wrong, or bad. Was it bad when I was? No. And it's not when you are.” Jack took a deep breath. “Mark… Mark, you should try… you should try to take care of it. To _enjoy_ it, okay? I can… I can go, if you'd like some time. Or… or I can stay, if you need me here. Want me here.

“Whatever you need, Mark. I'm here for you. I love you.”

“I… I’m not… that’s not….” Jack said Mark was _allowed;_ Jack said he had _permission._ That meant it was okay, right? Jack wasn’t scolding him like they would have if it was wrong. In fact, they’d basically told him Jack’s word was law, which meant it trumped theirs- no matter what they’d done to him. It was a twisted way to think about the situation but it helped because right then, what Jack was telling Mark happened to be a lot healthier than anything they had said to him in the room. Maybe it _was_ okay. The possibility mitigated some of Mark’s shame and guilt but did nothing to resolve the issue itself. “...I’m allowed? I’m… I’m allowed. I’m _allowed,_ it’s okay, I’m… I’m okay?”

Jack didn’t get in trouble when he had a boner, but Jack was supposed to be the _“master”._ He was allowed to do whatever the Hell he wanted without consequence and- _no._ No, no, no Mark had to stop thinking like that. He had to stop letting them get back in his head and control his thought process. Mark whimpered and shifted gears to press at his head with his hands. “Can’t compare, can’t compare, not us, n-not… we’re not….” Mark was beneath Jack, right? No. No, that didn’t sound right, but that’s what they said. Why was he listening to them again? It was late and he was aroused and it was so, so hard to split hairs on basically anything at the moment. Mark hadn’t been this horny since he was kidnapped and it kept pulling his mindset back; not to the room, but his training- no, his _conditioning._

“Y-you’re allowed, ‘m not, not without y-your… your….” _Permission?_ Jack had _given_ his permission. Mark’s brain was running itself in circles but Jack was saying he could take care of it. He _could._ That he should enjoy it- oh, god, _how?_ Mark hadn’t been able to truly “enjoy” a climax for months and just the thought of orgasming filled him with a sense of dread. He shivered and sobbed and reached down to press a hand between his legs. He pushed hard at his erection until it hurt because the pain was better; it brought clarity and eased his guilt. Mark turned his head to sink teeth into his pillow so the material could muffle a plethora of apologies and declarations of love to Jack. How could he say it? How? ‘ _I need you.’_ Mark wasn’t even sure in exactly what way.

“Mark, shh, it's okay. It's okay. I love you. I… I'm here, Mark. I'm here, I can, I can...I can hold you? I can hug you, Mark. Let me hug you? I'll keep you safe. I promise, Mark.”

Mark’s addled brain picked apart Jack’s offer. “Hugging” and “holding” were things he’d experienced while hosting a boner before. They weren’t pleasant. However, his abuser had always been the one to initiate things. Mark never had the want or opportunity to do so. Jack wasn’t grabbing him. He was gently offering and Mark could sense the way he spread his arms open beneath the duvet. Jack was inviting him in- _not_ forcing him. That was different. _Jack_ was different. Jack said he’d keep him safe. Usually, he did. That was a promise Mark could put faith into.

He felt liable to have a full meltdown or _implode_ if he didn’t do _something._ Mark decided it was worth the risk. He needed support and an anchor to ground his mind in the current reality of things or at the very least, a body to press against. He forced himself to release the pillow in exchange for several deep breaths. Nerves steadied, Mark could feel his heart pounding like a snare drum in his chest as he awkwardly rolled over with one hand still pressed tight between his legs. Jack’s brilliant blue eyes and soft smile greeted him. Mark’s bones shivered and melted at the familiar sight. “Jack… _Jack._ ” His voice gained a whining, desperate edge to it.

Mark leaned forward and groped around until he snagged a fistful of Jack’s shirt. He used the hold to pull himself just a few inches closer while releasing shaky breaths; sweat had started to bead lightly on his brow. “J-just… just… careful. S-slow, please, I…. D-don’t look down.” Mark needed Jack to keep looking at _him,_ needed those eyes to focus on. His fingers twitched around the bulge in his sweats and he swiftly bit at his lip to avoid another moan.

“I won't, Mark, I won't look. I won't. I promise.” Jack folded his arms gently around Mark’s back, hugging him loosely. “I'm right here, Mark, I'm right here with you. Okay? It's just you and me, in our home, in our room, in our bed. You're safe. I have you. You're safe. I promise.”

Jack rubbed Mark’s back and met his eyes in the dark room. “You're completely covered. No one can see _anything._ It's okay. I'm right here. Mark, what do you...what do you need from me? Right now, right in this moment… we can talk about it tomorrow. What do you need _now_? Do you… Do you need me to say it's okay?”

Mark shivered, but he knew it was Jack’s arms around him because Jack was _right there,_ in front of him. That made it okay; that made him feel better. He was safe in Jack’s arms, always safe. He tried his best to keep breathing and roll around Jack’s reminders in his head. They were alone. They were home. They were in their room, in _their_ bed; together. Just the two of them. No one else was seeing Mark like this. All he had to worry about was Jack, and the things Jack might do. He calmed some but not in the way he would have preferred; his arousal was still raging stubbornly. He was safe, though. Mark wouldn’t be hit and he wouldn’t be grabbed because Jack was the only person there and Jack _knew._ Jack _loved him_ and Mark could breathe.

His eyes unfocused a little at the questions. Jack wanted to help. He wanted to make Mark feel better; make it all go away. Of course he did. Problem was, Mark didn’t know just _what_ to tell Jack. Sure, he knew what he _needed;_ he needed to get off. That was easier said than done now because the thought of just jerking it like he used to before the kidnapping made him visibly cringe. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t._ Mark panted with pinkened cheeks and glazed brown eyes; hair a dark mess that kept falling into his face. He curled his hand around the bulge in his sweats and whined again. It was a breathless sound pitching up from deep and low in his throat.

Mark wanted to bury his face in Jack’s neck and hide away forever, but then he wouldn't be able to see Jack’s face. It was a conundrum that left him whimpering and pushing his face into the pillow instead; keeping one eye open as if terrified to shut out the visuals of his surroundings entirely. “Th-they said… they said….”

**_“Bad dogs get excited without their master’s permission. Good dogs ask and beg first. You’re a good dog, aren’t you Markimoo?”_ **

“...I-I shouldn’t… shouldn’t be like this, not… not unless it’s okay….” His breath was short as he spoke; voice but a whisper against the pillow while rules trickled back into his brain.

**_“And good dogs are patient. They’re obedient. They don’t touch themselves or orgasm without master’s permission. Unless their master tells them to. Got it? If you touch yourself again we’re gonna have to punish you…. Give you a good reason to cum all over yourself like that….”_ **

Mark bit at his lip again and curled inwards until the top of his hair bumped at Jack’s chin. The positioning of his hand shifted against his dick and he shuddered in Jack’s arms. “...I can’t. I can’t, not u-unless… unless it’s okay… unless they say it’s okay I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I _can’t,_ Jack. I know they’re not here _I know_ but they are they’re in my head and I don’t want to hurt, Jack. It hurts. T-tell me it’s not gonna hurt, Jack, _please._ ” His breath hitched with a fresh sob and finally his eyes began to burn with a more physical threat of tears.

“It’s okay, Mark,” Jack murmured, leaning down to press a kiss against Mark’s hair. “It’s _okay_. I’m saying it’s okay. And it’s not going to hurt. It’s _not_. I promise, it’s not going to hurt. No one is going to hurt you. I’m holding you, right? I won’t _ever_ let someone hurt you again. Not as long as I’m holding you.” He rubbed his hand along Mark’s back. “I love you, Mark. So much.”

“I l-love you too….” Mark whispered the words hoarsely into Jack’s neck. He tried to shift his longing for blue eyes to how Jack’s accent vibrated in his throat; how Mark could hear the steady, anxious thrum of Jack’s pulse where his nose was pressed against a pale neck. He breathed and relaxed as Jack’s scent washed over him, completely different from _anything_ in that room. He was safe; tucked up in Jack’s arms and beneath his cheek. His face was pressed into a roughly stubbled neck and one hand was twisted up in Jack’s loose nightshirt. He was safe and loved and Jack said it was okay.

Jack turned his head to press his cheek against the top of Mark’s, just barely touching. “Please… can you please try to… to touch yourself? It’s okay, Mark. I promise. I _want_ you to. It will be good. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

Jack said it was okay and that he would keep Mark safe. No one was going to hurt Mark if he let go. Mark wanted to believe Jack so badly it hurt. Jack promised it would be good and Mark tried to believe him; tried to have faith in those words. Mark knew it would take ages for him to calm down if he didn’t address the problem so he took a deep breath. “Okay.” Mark nuzzled in a bit closer to Jack’s neck; his chest. Their hips remained stalwartly apart- for now. “Okay… o-okay, I… I can try….” Mark uncurled just enough to give his hand some freedom beneath the duvet. The first shift of friction sent pleasure arching up into his torso like electricity along a metal rod. He gasped softly and gave a little jolt in Jack’s arms. _“F-fuck….”_

“Good, Mark, that’s _good_.” Jack took a shaky breath. “Just like that, yes… but…” He squeezed Mark and rubbed his cheek against Mark’s hair. “...but if you need to stop, that’s okay too. You can say no. At any time, you can say no, you can say stop, you can push me away, and it’s okay. It’s _okay_. I promise. I’ll be here, and I’ll hold you through this, as long as you want me here. But if you need to, _want_ to stop, just say the word. Any word. And we’ll stop. That’s okay too.”

Mark clung to Jack’s positive reinforcement. Again, it probably wasn’t the _best_ technique since it was more successful _because_ of how he was conditioned in the room, but right then he didn’t care. It helped. He felt slightly encouraged and gave a more intentional rub against his sweats. The sensation was the same, but _better,_ and had Mark releasing a breathy little moan once more. He pressed and rubbed his cheek into Jack’s neck, seeking comfort, and it sent his hot breath skittering over Jack’s skin. He was completely caught up in his efforts. “Jack….”

He kept track of the little beat pattering away beneath his fingertips where they still rested against Jack’s chest. Mark always thought it could make a cool song, but he was selfish and really wanted to keep it all to himself. Jack was murmuring words into his hair and he could feel each pull and stretch of his lips. He recognized how Jack’s breath would sift through the more delicate follicles of his hair and it almost tickled, but he tried to focus. “...I can say no. I can… I can push you away. I can stop, any time I want. I don’t… don’t have to do anything. I don’t?” There was a slight pitch raise to the last, though, as Mark questioned the validity of Jack’s statements. He didn’t mean to, it was just such a foreign concept to him now. To have access to the word “no” and knowing it would actually be effective. His hand paused, just for a few breaths; testing the waters.

“That's right, Mark, you can say no. You don't have to.” Jack took a deep breath. He rubbed his cheek against Mark's hair and kissed his scalp again. “It's okay. You're okay. Do you need to stop?”

“I can say no… I can say no… I can _stop…_ ” Mark muttered the statements over and over again under his breath as he furrowed his brow. It shouldn’t be such an abstract concept to wrap his brain around, it _shouldn’t_ but it _was_. He tried not to think too deeply on it and focused on Jack’s voice instead; on the hands rubbing at his back. He let his eyelids droop, but didn’t fully close them for fear of seeing the wrong images again. Mark had to stay in the now; had to focus on _Jack._ He didn’t have to fantasize because everything Jack said was true, and right there. It was currently happening.

“They’re not allowed… they’re not… Just us. Just you… and me….” Them. It was _their_ bed, their room, their home. The amount of security they had set up for the place was almost ridiculous. No one would be getting in- not without their consent, anyway. The thought helped Mark relax some more. _‘Just us.’_ It wasn’t hard at all to keep his thoughts on Jack. He _loved_ thinking about Jack. There were so many positive things about him and so few negative, in his eyes. Always there, always careful, and always so handsome. Jack was attractive; plain and simple. There was no denying it and Mark latched onto that.

“That’s right, Mark, just you and me, no one else in our bed. No one else.” Jack kept talking, kept touching Mark’s back.

Mark stopped forcing the _good,_ ** _dirty_** thoughts away and let them come. Every stupid, cheesy, explicit thought about the man curled around him and petting his back, talking against his hair, coaching him through a task that should almost be ingrained into his natural instincts. Mark stopped thinking about _them_ and _their hands_ and thought about Jack’s. Their size, their shape, each of the little knobs on his fingers and knuckles, the callouses he was so used to feeling. How much skinnier they were than his, even now. _Nothing_ like **_theirs_** and he sighed, cupping at the bulge in his sweats, letting his own fingers massage there to great effect. These were _his_ hands. He knew them, he had felt them; had used them like this before. They were _his_ and there were Jack’s- no one else’s.

“No… n-no, I just… I wanted to know. I… I had to know it was okay. That I could stop.” Mark wiggled a hand into his pants with a dazed expression. He did as advised and wrapped those same fingers around his shaft. Immediately, he hissed from the contact, but Jack kept him grounded. His hand, his hand, his hand and Jack’s on his back. Nowhere else; nowhere he didn’t want them. Mark had full control and he decided what the hand- _his_ hand- did. He moved slow, carefully working up and down with the amount of pressure he preferred. His favored technique began returning to him after not being utilized in so long and he finally let loose another groan. It was deep, throaty and husky where his hot breath bounced off the bared skin of Jack’s neck and collar bones, while his free hand dropped to clutch at the sheets between them. “Nnnn… f.. Fuck… Jack….”

Jack shivered, his fingers pressing a little harder on the next downstroke before he loosened his grip again. “Good, Mark, good, just like that, you’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you. Good… I love you, Mark,” he murmured, his voice sliding slightly deeper than usual. “Keep… keep stroking. Let yourself feel it. Feel how good your body can feel.”

“N.. n-no one else….” Just the one person Mark wanted. It was so easy for him to melt beneath Jack’s touch; revel in the way that one particular brush of fingers carved through the slowly reforming muscles on his back. He shivered in turn and pressed back against that hand, silently coaxing Jack with his body, telling him it was okay. His brain was struggling to keep pace but his body wanted it- wanted _more_ good. It wanted to _feel_ that good running up his spine and seeping into his core until he was left boneless and sated and for once, just this once, feeling _good._ He breathed the words in a rough hush against Jack’s skin. “Good… good… so good, Jack, so… mnnghh… y-you’re so….” He was definitely panting, now.

His surroundings were a blur of dim shadows and soft sheets but it didn’t matter because his face was still tucked firmly into Jack’s neck. Mark felt lost there; in Jack’s voice, in his hands, in his _everything_ and he didn’t even care because it felt so, _so_ good. So _right._ Mark’s strokes had increased their pace as he grew more comfortable with what used to be familiar. The arms were new, but nothing if not exceptionally pleasant additions. He was still engulfed in Jack’s scent and he breathed it in as he twisted his hand around the length of his cock. He squeezed gently at the base, sliding his fingers beneath the head; just how he liked it, not that _they_ would know, or act on the information if they did. He was already pretty close, and it was _embarrassing,_ but probably for the best. He didn’t want to keep pushing Jack; keep forcing him to be in this awkward situation. The sooner he finished, the sooner they could separate and regain their respective composure.

Jack pressed his hands against Mark’s back again, his fingertips pushing against the muscle there as Mark arched into the firmer touch. The duvet shifted with every tug of Mark’s hand.

Jack’s face was close, and he sounded a little out of it himself. His mouth, ever moving, was hanging slack just a little bit during pauses for breath. Mark could picture it in his mind from the sensation of lips against his hair. The thought made his own lips tingle and he quickly wetted them with his tongue. He knew what they wanted- what _he_ wanted: to kiss Jack, to take the next step they’d been staving off for weeks now. Mark wanted to kiss Jack so badly but he abstained because he knew Jack must be aroused. Kissing him would only make things worse, and Mark wouldn’t do that if it meant Jack had to suffer while he got himself off. Still, his mouth longed to latch onto something. “Jack… Jack… wanna… wanna k-kiss you…. Want to… want to….” He licked his lips again. Mark wanted to bite Jack’s neck.

Jack shivered and dug his fingers into Mark's back for just a moment. “Mark, _yes_ , please, I...I want to kiss you too. I want to kiss you so much…”

Mark groaned again. He could feel Jack’s fingers pressing eagerly against his spine and it might have sent him back to different hands in a different room were it not for the way Jack completely _engulfed_ Mark. His feel, his scent, his voice; every time Jack spoke it rattled the part of Mark’s brain retreating to that room and anchored it firmly back in their bed. Jack was begging him, even if only lightly, for a kiss. Hearing Jack beg _at all_ with anything but concern in his voice made Mark thrust a bit more eagerly into his fist. He gasped and huffed hot breaths against Jack’s neck to draw out goosebumps on the skin. “Jack, Jack, Jack, fuck….”

He disentangled his hand from the sheet in favor of clasping it around Jack’s bicep, squeezing tight. “Can’t… c-can’t, can’t because… because I can’t t-take care of you, Jack, I… _hnngh… Jack…._ I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, just wanna… wanna….” Mark’s open mouth hovered over Jack’s neck while he trembled from just how hard he was holding himself back. It was surreal. He’d never felt so aroused by another man (of his own volition) nor wanted to bite one (sensually). To latch onto skin and channel the pleasure roaring through his core in wave after wave. He wanted to taste Jack and see if it matched how he smelled.

“What? You… what? Mark, I don't...I don't _care,_ Mark, I can take care of myself, just please, Mark, please can I kiss you, please…?”

Jack was begging again. Except this time, it was more desperate. There was no questioning how breathless his words sounded or the tone of his voice. Jack was legitimately _pleading_ with Mark for just this one thing. This one little mercy while he did his best to control his own urges. Jack was just _so good_ to Mark. How could he possibly deny him something after all sacrifices the Irishman had made? Something _Mark himself_ wanted? Jack said it was okay, he said he could take care of himself. Guilt still nagged at the back of Mark’s lust-addled brain.

 _‘I can do this, for him. At the very least… if I can’t help him over the edge… then I can do this.’_ Mark had been wanting to do it for weeks, surely it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Just pucker up and lean in, that was it. The logic didn’t stop Mark’s heart from fluttering wildly in his chest. He was having difficulty focusing on two tasks at once, so he paused in his stroking once more with a soft moan. He squeezed at his shaft to compensate for the loss of friction. “...o-okay…. Okay, Jack, okay…. Okay….” He was okay, Jack was okay, they were _okay._ Mark could do this, he _could._ Drawing a deep breath, Mark grudgingly pulled back from the warmth and safety of Jack’s neck.

He tilted his head up until he could meet clouded blue eyes again. They were still bright, but now it was with something different, not the usual happiness or excitement beaming from their depths. The glint was something more sultry and alluring. Jack’s eyes drew Mark in and consequently, his mouth. For a few seconds, their warm breath mingled in the scant few inches of empty air lingering between their faces. Then Mark closed the remaining distance with a pillowy soft, tentative kiss. It was just a brush, but he stayed. Jack’s lips were warm and rough and slightly swollen from his teeth. Mark loved it.

Jack’s eyes fell closed again as their mouths met. His groan was a voiceless rumble, and he clutched at Mark’s back. He pressed harder against Mark’s mouth, turning the kiss from a hesitant brush into a proper kiss and held Mark tight against his chest.

It was better than good. It was _great._ Dare Mark say even: **perfect.** Jack’s hands were sculpting his back like putty, warmth seeping into him and each inhale was ensconced with Jack’s unique scent. Mark gladly buried himself in it. All lingering traces of the past; the room; his kidnappers was left abandoned at the wayside. There was no space for them in his current world of Jack and himself and a soft, shared bed. Pleasure he had been lacking for months tingled across his every nerve ending. It set his muscles on fire and made his bones ache in the best way possible. It felt like his heart was hammering away a counterpoint tune in his chest to the one he had felt earlier against Jack’s. For once, for once he was short of breath _on purpose_ and he was in control. He had made each decision and could change his mind without consequence.

Jack was there; breathing with him, clinging to him. _So good._ Jack was always so good to him. The strain from Jack’s own erection must be killing him while they locked lips and that was because of _him_. Mark had made Jack a quivering, needy mess. It wasn't like when his abusers had gotten aroused off him. They'd always been in control; dominated. Taken whatever they wanted. Jack was the opposite: hot and pliant and _begging_ Mark with his mouth now in lieu of his words. Mark moaned deeply against Jack’s lips as he squeezed at his shaft again. How badly did Jack want to drop a hand down and do this to himself? Touch _himself?_

Mark wanted to touch Jack. The hand clutching at the sheets uncurled and reached out further, feeling along Jack’s hip, squeezing there, tracing fingertips up his side to a shoulder. He set his grip again, briefly, just taking in Jack’s frame via touch. Then his fingers were sliding up the light, rough stubble of the Irishman’s neck, along the curve of his jaw to dip beneath an ear. They reached their destination in the short cut brown of Jack’s natural hair color and buried themselves there; not grabbing, not pulling, just settling down as if they had discovered a new home.

Jack’s breath stuttered, then died at Mark’s touch. Mark cradled the back of Jack’s head even as he stroked himself to completion. He was breathing hard, eyes barely open, breath hot and wet as he pulled back from their kiss. It was only an inch; their faces remained close and intimate as he worked to breathe out his next words. Jack seemed to regain his lost breath once the kiss was broken and he opened his eyes, lifting one hand away from Mark's back to touch his cheek.

“Jack… Jack, Jack, I… I n-need… I-I'm going to… _nnnghhh…._ N-need you to.. to… _ahh.._ need your….” Mark needed to know it was okay for him to release all the tension he'd been building up in his body. There were too many memories of receiving a beating or being forced to pleasure his kidnappers after climaxing without their express permission.

Jack pressed his thumb against Mark's cheekbone. “Keep going, Mark, keep going.” His breath hitched slightly at Mark’s name. “You can...you can let go whenever. Whenever you’re ready, you can cum. There’s nothing to hold you back. You can do this…”

Mark immediately leaned into the touch. He was too far gone; too close to completion to flinch away. It could have been one of **_them_** cradling his cheek and he still would have pressed into the touch but it wasn't **_them_** , it was Jack. Sweet, beloved Jack guiding him through to the finish and saying the words Mark needed to hear while he held him together with his own two hands. Mark felt as if he were coming apart at the seams. “I-I can do this… I can do this… I c-can…” He sucked in a tight breath and gave his shaft one more hard, stroking twist.

Then he sloppily smashed their mouths together again. Cradling the Irishman against him was one of the best feelings in the world, but it couldn't compare to achieving his orgasm seconds later. He shuddered and spasmed in Jack’s arms while still gripping at his cock and released a muffled, throaty groan against his boyfriend’s mouth. At last, his eyes shut from how it all slammed into him like a runaway freight train, and this time he didn’t see his captors.

All he could see, all he could hear, all he could smell, feel, _taste_ was Jack and he had never been happier.

Jack clutched at Mark, kissing him back, their lips sliding together, Jack licking into Mark’s mouth. His hand moved its grip down to Mark’s hips, tugging him closer.

Something in Mark had broken. He had absolutely no idea what exactly it was, or what to call it, but it felt… good. It felt important, like there was this massive block of ice hiding out somewhere in his body and it had finally been shattered into small enough pieces that it could melt. Melt and flow out of him, just like his release had now. There was a newfound emptiness in him but it was the good kind; a soft, gentle space the hard lump had been occupying for months. Steady warmth pumped in to take its place and left him feeling tingly all over. It pooled in his chest, trickled down into his guts and eased him into a sentient puddle of bliss.

Jack was _still_ kissing him. Jack was clutching at him for dear life and dragging his tongue between their mouths. Mark, lost to the good, fuzzy feelings and post-orgasm contentment, tried to match him almost lazily. It was nice. Where Jack was desperate, Mark was indulgent. Where Jack gripped and tugged and jerked, Mark curled and cradled and petted. They were sharp contrasts but neither seemed to particularly mind. He tilted his head, breathed through his nose and hummed sleepily into the kiss. Little warning bells went off when he was suddenly dragged forward by his hips, but the movement stopped. Jack was trembling, but the fingers loosened. Mark relaxed.

Even if Mark was coherent enough to fully comprehend the consequences of Jack now having a boner himself, he might not have been able to help. He had only _just_ gotten over dealing with his _own_ dick and pleasuring _himself._ Much as he cared for (and loved) Jack, such a big step would take more time, but they were off to a good start and Mark had never been more at peace. He felt the syllables of his name reverberate in his teeth and pulled back with a wet click-and-pop. His lips were puffy and tingly in a way that almost made him laugh, but instead he sighed. His fingers curled into Jack’s hair while his thumb ghosted the shell of an ear. Mark’s head flopped against the pillow where he could stare languidly at Jack’s kiss-swollen lips and give a small, private smile. His black hair fanned out around him and curled up over his cheeks as he drifted down from Cloud 9. “Sean….”

“Mark…” Jack was still shaking. He skimmed his hand up Mark’s side and leaned in, brushing his nose against Mark’s cheek and taking one last deep breath.

Mark nosed at Jack’s cheek in return. The stubble there tickled and made his nose scrunch up as he resisted the minute urge to sneeze. Mark wiggled it some to get rid of the feeling and by then Jack had pulled away. He actually felt disheartened when the Irishman sat up and retracted his limbs from where they had been scattered around Mark’s body. Immediately, he felt colder without Jack’s heat seeping into his skin and the fact he had to almost prop himself up as well just to look into that face almost made him want to pout. The way they had been, laying beside each other with only inches keeping them apart, was perfect. He couldn’t kiss Jack again like this.

Jack propped a leg up. “Mark, I… I’ll...get something to clean up with, okay?”

“...okay. Though, it might just be easier if I… changed my pants….” Well, he supposed his hand was pretty sticky too. He had yet to remove it from the confines of his sweats to avoid getting his spunk on the bed or blankets. Feel good as it may, the aftermath of an orgasm was kind of nasty. Getting a towel or something sounded like a fantastic idea. Mark only wished Jack didn’t have to leave to go do it, but Jack said he would be back and claimed he wouldn’t take long. Mark believed him, of course, even if it didn’t help to rub out the part of him that wanted to cling to Jack for hours and hours. He was in an incredibly good mood.

“I’ll be back.” Jack reached out, brushing his thumb over the corner of Mark’s mouth. “Five minutes. Or less.”

“Take any longer and it might dry out… eugh….” Mark rumbled deep in his chest. For once, there were no signs of anxiety or apprehension anywhere. His eyes were hazy but alert, his expression relaxed and content; his entire body language screamed “satisfied”. Even his voice sounded better: firmer, stronger, more confident. Maybe the post-orgasm wonder wouldn’t last long. It certainly wouldn’t last forever, but for right now, Mark was about as close to his old self as he could possibly get. A small but genuine smile played at his lips and he turned his head, just slightly, to press a feather light kiss to the pad of Jack’s thumb. Then he gave his body a languid stretch and settled against the pillows with eyes only just cracked open. Mark yawned.

“...if I fall back asleep, just… leave it… I’ll deal with it later…. Might not… be the best idea to… to wake me up, y’know….” He drawled, voice thick with exhaustion after the intense session. He murmured a “come back soon”, but it was almost unintelligible.

Jack stretched. “You should probably change your pants if you can get out of bed,” he suggested. “Just in case you do fall asleep again. I won’t wake you up.” He took a shaky breath. “I’ll bring a wet cloth back for your hand.” Jack eased himself out of bed and slipped out of the room.

Mark managed to coax himself up just long enough to change his pants, but was out like a light before Jack returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	72. 7/27: Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark knew it was coming.

“I love you.”

“ _Hmmmrrrghhnnn… love you….”_ Mark rumbled around a massive yawn. He had no idea what time it was, but Jack had left the bed and come back with… smelled like coffee. So it couldn't be too early. Judging from the weight on his feet, Jack had let Chica out too. The simultaneous cuddling from his two favorite parties finally dragged him into being fully awake after lazing in a semi-conscious state during Jack’s brief absence. Not that he acted like he was really waking up. Mark was _comfortable._ The bed was warm, Chica’s thumping tail was a welcome familiarity and Jack… well, Jack was _Jack._ Mark didn’t _need_ a reason to snuggle happily back into his boyfriend’s arms. He huffed out a contented sigh. For the first time in ages, he felt really _good_ waking up. There was an ease in his bones and muscles as if he had released hidden tension once trapped there; weighing him down. In its wake Mark was left wrapped up in a warm little bubble of bliss and serenity. “G’mornin’....” Full word enunciation was for losers.

Jack chuckled, yawning and pressing a kiss against Mark's hair. “Someone sounds like he had a good sleep,” he teased. He held Mark, trailing his fingers down Mark’s back. “How’re you feeling?”

Mark gave a happy little hum of a burble as he recognized the sensation of Jack’s breath on his hair. Hands were still a big no-no, but he’d grown accustomed to Jack kissing the dark strands or pressing his cheek to them. “Someone had a _very_ good sleep,” he replied in a similar tone. Cuddling with Jack in the morning had already been a longstanding safe space for Mark. Now, after taking another step in his long and winding healing process, it felt even better. Mark reveled in Jack’s arms around him and was lulled by the fingers stroking languidly along his spine.

Humming his contentment again, he burrowed a bit closer to the warmth Jack was emitting, tucking his face in alongside a pale neck. It was almost identical to their position from last night. “I feel… _fantastic…._ I don’t feel like a _million_ bucks, I feel like _two_ million bucks.” Mark smiled at his own terrible humor and pressed the expression into Jack’s skin so he could feel it. Mark nosed almost subconsciously along the little pulse point he could feel thrumming away. One hand found itself tangled up in the front of Jack’s shirt; the other rested loosely over the curve of his ribs. “...what about you? What monetary value would you assign _your_ feelings today, Jackaboy?”

“Two million sounds about right,” Jack murmured back to Mark. “Euros, though, cause we’re in Ireland.” He squeezed his arms around Mark’s back and took a deep breath. He kissed Mark’s hair, nosing through the dark strands. “I made coffee. Chica went out. We don’t have to get out of bed for _hours_.” He sighed.

“I dunno euros though…. Dammit, Jack.” Mark huffed the complaint even though he’d spent more than enough time in Ireland to comprehend the currency by now. Could he help it if Jack did all the shopping? He giggled a few soft breaths into the crook of Jack’s neck. “Stoppit. That tickles.” Jack’s nose was making his messy hair shift around and tickle at his sensitive scalp. He wiggled in Jack’s arms. “You’re one pain in the butt of a godsend, Sean McLoughlin. Coffee _and_ Chica? Must still be dreaming.” He dipped his head down to escape his boyfriend’s tender onslaught and pressed his own nose into Jack’s shoulder, breathing deep. “...why d’you always smell so nice, asshole? ‘S not fair….”

“ _I_ smell nice? You’re the one who always smells like…” Jack chased Mark down, sniffing obnoxiously at his hair. “Mm, garden soil and dog hair. Home.”

“OhmyGodJack _youcreep._ ” Mark babbled with a slightly hysterical giggle. He buried his face into Jack’s shoulder to hide the fact his face was heating up with a blush. Mark could have dealt with something cliche like “garden soil” or teasing like “dog hair”, but “home”? That suckerpunched him right in the heart- in the very best of ways, of course. Mark sucked in a little breath and he could feel how Jack tensed against him, then relaxed. Mark pouted for a moment against Jack’s shirt.

He tilted his head back and pressed a feathery soft kiss to the curve of Jack’s stubbled jawline. The hand gripping at Jack’s shirt relaxed and splayed out its fingers along a narrow chest, soaking up the steady thump-thump of a heartbeat. Mark squeezed at Jack’s side and bumped their knees together. “ _Home._ Yeah, I think that’s a good word for you, too….”

Jack turned his head to the side to press his cheek against the top of Mark’s head and cuddled him close. After several long minutes of comfortable silence, he posed a question. “Mark, last night…?”

Mark had almost started drifting off again when Jack spoke and his eyes blinked open. He sucked in a swift breath through his nose and tightened his fingers in their respective positions on Jack's body.

He’d known it was coming. Through the haze of comfort and cuddles was the niggling reminder of exactly _how_ last night’s events went down. The context and connotations and desperate, hushed confessions from Mark about things that occurred and shaped him in that room. Jack had heard them all. Jack _saw_ how messed up Mark was from their hands and words and he felt his insides shrivel up with instantaneous self-consciousness as his breath grew short. Mark _knew_ Jack wouldn’t judge him; he _knew._ He never did, but Mark’s brain insisted Jack’s reaction would still be negative in some way and he ducked his head again. “...I love you….” He pressed his face back into the safety of Jack’s neck with a shiver. “...I do… I _do,_ Jack… please….”

“I love you too.” Jack turned his head to kiss Mark’s hair again, rubbing over his back. “Mark, I love you too. Don’t doubt that. I’m not...I’m not upset, Mark. I’m not unhappy about last night. I’m actually… actually _really_ happy. That you trusted me that much.”

“I-I… I’m not. I’m not, I’m just… scared. I’m sorry. I don’t….” Mark’s words and breath shook as he pressed his lips to Jack’s neck in apology. He didn’t mean to make it sound that way. He’d _never_ do that to Jack, not after how long it took them just to sort things out. He was still trembling but Jack’s attentions were stopping them from becoming full blown shakes and Mark focused on taking deep breaths to avoid a possible panic attack. He was okay. It was _okay._ “...you’re not upset? Are you sure? There’s, it’s… there’s a lot to be upset about, Jack.” Mark _did_ trust Jack. It was why he wanted to believe him more than anything, yet it was so outlandish to his rattled mind.

“There’s a lot we need to _talk_ about,” Jack corrected Mark gently. “But I’m not upset, and I’m not… yeah.”

“Talking’s so hard, though….” Mark whined into Jack’s neck.

Jack didn’t try to pull Mark out of the safety of hiding against him. He kissed and nuzzled and rubbed instead. “Is… was that the first time? Since…?”

Mark tried to focus on something other than the bad parts of last night; other than Jack’s questions. He’d understand and answer them, sure, but Mark tried not to dwell. All he had to do was spit out a response and sink back into the comforts of Jack’s neck and arms. He clenched his jaw and refused to close his eyes. “...yeah. Y-yeah, it… first time.” Mark’s face was burning hot with a mixture of shame and embarrassment as he swallowed hard around the lump stuck in his throat. “I couldn’t… d-didn’t want to, before….” Every time he would try, he’d just think of their hands. He’d hear their voices in his ear- just like last night- and feel so abruptly nauseous that whatever arousal had begun to blossom would simply fizzle out.

Jack nuzzled Mark’s hair and gave him a tighter squeeze. “Thank you. For trusting me. For letting me help you with that. I’m glad… I’m glad you were able to. It was… it was probably a huge step for your recovery. You were looking, _sounding_ almost back to your old self this morning.”

No longer satisfied with their current position on the bed, Mark wiggled an arm beneath Jack so he could give his boyfriend a proper, clinging hug. He could feel how their chests brushed together through two layers of clothing. Mark exhaled, a little bolstered by the solidarity at his front and the tight embrace at his back. “...I trust you more than anyone, Jack. I told you that. I… I couldn’t have done that, with anyone else. Not now. And not just because you’re my b-boyfriend.” That was so much stranger to say out loud than it had been as a mere thought in his head, but Mark wouldn’t deny it. He pressed his mouth to the spot where Jack’s shirt collar met his skin and murmured against it. “...it felt good. It did. I felt… better- _feel_ better. I think… I think I needed that. To… to do that. Without the pain and humiliation. I forgot… just how good it was. For stress.” He let loose another shuddering exhale. “Thank you, Sean….”

Jack was tracing patterns on Mark’s back now, squiggles and hearts and stars while Mark talked. “I’m sorry they took that from you,” Jack said quietly, just breathing alongside Mark. “And I… I’m glad I was able to help you take it back. It’s _your_ body. You deserve to be able to enjoy it, no matter _what_ they did.”

Mark’s eyelids drooped. Part of his brain was able to just disconnect and focus on the shapes being traced into his back. The sensation was surprisingly soothing. “Me too….” He sighed and nuzzled at Jack’s neck. “...but you helped me take it back….” Mark felt the need to echo Jack’s words because they felt more real if he said them himself. If he heard them in his own voice; felt them on his tongue. He savored the spoken fact like it was his new favorite food. “...it _is_ my body… isn’t it? It’s… it’s still mine. No matter what they did, it’s not theirs. It’s… it’s not _anyone’s._ Right? And… and if I enjoy something, or feel happy, it’s… okay. It is.” Mark was still mulling through information that should have been obvious. Thoughts that should naturally occupy his brain on a regular basis.

He turned his head so he could press his cheek against the rise of Jack’s shoulder with a somber expression. If he concentrated, he could feel how their chests rose and fell in tandem. Their heartbeats were beginning to synchronize from the close contact and with every calming breath. “...I’m glad we confessed, before… _that_ happened.” Mark couldn’t even begin to imagine how terribly it could have gone without that support.

“Oh god yes, me too. I mean, I would've...probably done much the same stuff, but without the kisses. It's...you needed it. What… what I said.”

Jack hesitated, then pressed on. “What I said for you last night, Mark...we...we never really…” He grumbled, rubbing Mark's back again, and shook his head. “We've dealt a lot with the physical and mental abuse they did,” Jack said, “but we haven't really even _begun_ to touch on… on the sexual side.” Jack’s face was tucked into Mark’s hair. “I think… I think we need to. If we're gonna do this. Try to… to be anything. Boyfriends.”

Mark squeezed at Jack tighter and resisted the powerful urge to hide his face in green hair; he couldn't hide from this forever. _They_ couldn't. Besides, he felt so fractured and ashamed it was probably better if he didn't let Jack even catch a glimpse of his face. No, he couldn't face his best friend, roommate, support- _boyfriend_ for this. He couldn't. The fact Jack was just as uncomfortable about the topic served as a small reassurance. Mark’s fingers twitched, but could only curl into Jack’s back. He didn't have the confidence to return the rubbing gesture. It felt like all of his internal organs sunk into a squishy heap at the bottom of his abdominal cavity when Jack finally spit out the words.

_Sexual abuse._

It had been so _easy_ to ignore that one, so easy to lump it with the physical and pretend it wasn't an issue. Mark wasn't intimate with anyone- hadn't even been sure if he could ever _be_ intimate with anyone again after what he experienced in that room, yet there he was. Forced into a corner because he fell back in love nonetheless. Ironically the easiest to keep a handle on, _sexual abuse_ was also the most difficult to actually talk about. It was so much more personal, embarrassing, looked down upon by society- especially when it happened to men. Mark had never been the type to seriously embrace the ideal of masculinity but it still hurt to think people looked at him differently now after he'd been… violated wasn't a strong enough word for all the things they'd done.

Jack tried not to look at him different, Mark _knew_ he did, but the pity and concern and hesitance were all still there. He could feel Jack’s heart beating a mile a minute against his chest and the sensation made him realize his own was still slow; calm. Mark wasn't panicking. The reminder of how broken he was just left him feeling… a little hollow. His hands slipped a few inches down Jack’s back while he tried to ignore the burning starting up in his eyes. “...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. If I was normal, if they hadn't fucked me up, I… w-we wouldn't need to have this conversation at all. We could just be normal boyfriends and love each other and do stupid, gay shit together without… without me forcing us both to walk on eggshells. To keep so many things in mind so I don't get triggered Jack I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry they broke me before we could be like this I'm so sorry.” His voice broke and his breath hitched with the risk of a sob as he tucked his chin over Jack’s shoulder. ‘ _Don't look. Don't look. Don't look and see just how truly messed up I am because you might think twice about how much you love me.’_

“Mark, you’ve _never_ been normal,” Jack pointed out. He kept his hold on Mark, rocking him back and forth just a couple inches. “ _I’ve_ never been normal. That’s part of the reason we’re so good together. We’re both completely abnormal in similar ways.

“And look, I don’t know what sort of storybook perfect relationships _you’ve_ had before, but in every single one of mine, having talks like this one _is_ important. And normal. Just talking about what’s okay and what isn’t, where hard lines are, where soft lines are that could be tested once we know each other better…” Jack sighed and squeezed his arms around Mark. “Yeah, you’ve got a shit ton more baggage than any of my girlfriends ever did. But everyone has baggage. And you… you’re not _broken_ , Mark. You’re hurt. And you’re healing. But I don’t look at you and see someone truly _broken._ ”

Mark gave a melancholic scoff and rolled his eyes with a little sniffle. “That's n-not what I meant and you know it, s-smartass….” He knew what Jack was doing, though, and the optimistic part of him appreciated the effort. He sniffed again; willing himself not to just break down into tears and gross amounts of snot. Mark could tell Chica was getting concerned and restless where she lay by their feet. “I _know_ you're supposed to talk about what's okay and what isn't, Jack. I do. I'm not naive. I just… this isn't like me saying ‘nah Jack I'm not into the whole foot fetish thing’ or you saying ‘Mark I really wanna top today’ or discussing safe words. I… I couldn't get off last night without you telling me it was okay, Jack. I c-couldn't even touch myself without….” His voice broke again and now his vision was beginning to blur with the onset of tears. _“Fuck….”_

He sniffled louder and removed an arm from Jack’s back to swipe stubbornly at his face. “I've got enough baggage for a whole flight of passengers Jack and I don't even u-understand how it's worth it to you. M-maybe I'm not broken. Maybe I am healing but I'm not whole, either. I'm n-not, and I never will be again because they cracked me all over, Jack, and I don't know wh-what we’re going to do…. This is all a big mess because of me. Because of what they _did_ to me.”

“What _they_ did _to_ you,” Jack stressed, pulling back from Mark so he could look down at Mark’s face.

Mark ducked his head, still trying to hide. Forget what he thought earlier, he couldn't do this. He felt absolutely pathetic snuffling there in front of Jack and scrubbing at his eyes like some toddler. He wasn't even sure _why_ he was crying. He didn't have exact words for it, he just felt… _bad._

Jack was nonplussed by Mark's hiding as he reached up to touch Mark’s cheek, first just a gentle contact, then a bit firmer when he nudged Mark’s hand aside and wiped at the tears himself. “Not what you _are_ , Mark. And I love you for what you are. _Who_ you are. And if… if you’re cracked, then we’ll fix you. We’ll… have you ever heard of kintsugi, Mark?”

Mark didn't flinch at Jack’s touch because he saw it coming, but he did twitch in slight surprise from the contact itself anyway. Jack’s fingers were cooler than his flushed cheeks. Grudgingly, he let his hand be nudged aside and allowed Jack to perform the tender action. “N-no….”

“It’s the art of fixing cracked and shattered pots. With gold. And making something beautiful, even better than before. And it’s better _because_ it was cracked. Because the crack, the _history_ of the pot or vase or bowl is kept, but it’s also made whole and usable again, and it’s...” Jack groaned, shaking his head. “I’ll have to show you pictures. Remind me to show you pictures next time we’re at a computer. It’s beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful. Like kintsugi.”

As Mark listened to Jack explain, he found himself intrigued. Hearing about the pots being repaired with gold was a really neat concept and he couldn’t deny the symbolism in the art. He was a sucker for symbolism, when he got it. He would definitely need to look up some pictures later. For now, Mark did his best to apply the metaphor to himself. Repairing cracks with gold to create something new; something that didn’t lack the original, but was made even better. Mark still had a lot of his old self in him. Unlocked more and more of it every day, it seemed. Little by little, but there was no denying the change and maybe, with Jack’s help, he could see the gold in it. The value in the glue holding his pieces together, laden by Jack’s experienced hands. Was that how Jack saw him?

Apparently. He _had_ just been called beautiful. Mark was used to compliments on his looks and the occasional flirtatious one-offs tossed around in their group, but they were alone now. It was just them (and Chica) with no one to entertain or put on airs for. There had been no humor or teasing in Jack’s tone. _Beautiful._ It wasn’t one of their usual quips. Mark could feel blue eyes on him and he swallowed softly. He hoped he wasn’t blushing too badly as the fingers curled contently around Jack’s side began to twitch. Chica was just laying there, watching them. Mark knew Jack loved him, and so the compliment only served to be even more effective.

Jack kept touching Mark’s cheeks, caressing his face. “We’re gonna fix you, Mark, fill in all your cracks with gold, and you'll be even better than you ever were before. You _will.”_ He leaned in to press their foreheads together, looking into Mark’s watery eyes. “I love you. Cracks and all.”

“I… hadn’t thought of it… like that. It’s… I like it. The idea. You’ll have to show me some time. Maybe later today, after we’ve gotten settled in.” Good, okay, cool, Mark could do this. He was maintaining his composure and at last found his eyes able to meet Jack’s. They were close. Their foreheads were pressed snugly together with Jack’s mouth hovering there, just offering itself up to be kissed and smothered and loved. _Ugh_. He was a mess, but the hands on his face were nice and Mark didn’t have to feel _guilty_ about wanting to kiss Jack anymore. Or anxious. After last night, he knew it was okay. Mark leaned into Jack’s touch, then turned his head to kiss at a calloused palm. “I love you….”

He still had one arm curled comfortably around his boyfriend as he met blue eyes again. Quietly, Mark brought up his now freed hand to brush a thumb gently at Jack’s lips. They were as soft as they'd felt last night. “Jack… this is gonna sound _really,_ ** _really_** cheesy, but…. You are my gold.” He could feel Jack’s warm breath fanning across his face and Mark’s smile was shaky, but there. “I… really wanna kiss you right now….”

“I just called you a pot,” Jack said, meeting Mark’s smile with his own. “I think cheesy is one of our _things_.” He leaned in closer, pressing his lips to the corner of Mark’s. “I really wanna kiss you right now too. So I'm gonna. Okay?”

“Should I call you a kettle then? It’d be fitting, with the tea and stuff.” If Jack wanted cheesy, he was going to get it in _spades-_ well, after their kiss. Mark’s heart performed a little backflip in his chest when Jack agreed to his proposal. They couldn’t call it their first kiss- not anymore. However, it would be the first kiss they shared one hundred percent alert and relaxed. Mark couldn’t recall all the details from last night and he wanted to fix that. He wanted to feel Jack against him without the thrumming need to grind against his body.

Jack paused a moment, then finished leaning in to brush their lips together. He moved slowly, squeezing his arm around Mark’s back as they kissed.

Mark got exactly what he wanted. Jack’s lips were just as soft on his own as they’d been on his thumb and they were warm, too. Mark found himself drawn deeper into that mouth with a pleasant sigh. Remembering to breathe through his nose came back to him and he let his fingers settle at Jack’s jaw line instead. He gently rested his knuckles there with his thumb pad pressed to the tip of Jack’s chin. It was like his body decided to move on instinct; nudging Jack’s face up so Mark could slowly deepen their kiss. He tilted his head to better lock their lips together and almost let his eyes slip shut- _almost._

Jack’s eyes did fall shut, and he spread his hand against Mark’s cheek, cupping his face and holding him close as they kissed. It was long and slow, a perfect kiss for a lazy morning.

When they did break apart again, it wasn’t for lack of breath or tension building in Mark’s frame. It was just because it was the right time to draw back, separating with dozens of gentle brushes of their lips, their beards rasping together. “I love you,” Jack whispered against Mark’s mouth. “So fucking much. You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	73. 8/3: Markiplier's Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Mark's "heroes" can be _his_ heroes too.

“Maaaaaark! I’m back!”

“Did you get lost or something on the way back? It took you longer than usual.” Mark called from the kitchen. He'd been debating whether he should wrap up the lunch he prepared for them or not when Jack finally came through the door and was slightly embarrassed by the fact he felt relief for more than just the saved food. “You didn't get attacked by more wild badgers, did you??” He gave a faux little gasp of dismay and made his way to the front room so he could greet his boyfriend properly. Mark was in the middle of untying the apron he wore when he stopped short at the sight of the giant box in Jack’s arms. He blinked, because Jack had only gone out to pick up Mark’s next prescription of antibiotics.

“Uh… Jack? I don't remember my medicine being in a box that big….” Mark _could_ see his medicine tucked away near the top- likely due to Jack’s hands being full with the box itself- but underneath the little bag looked to be various papers and small packages. It belatedly clicked for Mark. “Oh. Did you get a bunch of fan gifts? Was there some important anniversary I forgot about? Oh crap, don't make me sleep on the couch if I forgot to get you a present!” The last bit was clearly a joke but Mark’s initial questions were genuine. _Had_ he forgotten something Jack would be getting a bunch of gifts for? It wasn't his birthday. Irish holiday maybe??

“I did get a bunch of fan gifts,” Jack said with a grin, “but not for me. These are all for you!” He offered Mark the box. “Apparently, your community has appointed a point person here to collect all the Get Well Soon stuff people want to give you, and she ran into me at the pharmacy today. So...here you go!”

“What?” Mark accepted the box without really thinking. He immediately grunted and had to adjust his grip- it was heavier than it looked. His gaze flicked between the box to Jack and back again in slight disbelief. “For me? Seriously?” Mark had anticipated coming home to a bunch of gifts maybe, or getting them at his next convention, but not while he was still stuck in Ireland. He shuffled over to set the box on the coffee table and put his medicine off to the side. “That's…”

He couldn't believe his community had gone to such lengths for him after how long they'd been forced to wait for new content. After all the drama and the way Mark had been exposed, wholly and brutally, to the world. They _still_ came together for him, again. Mark smoothed his hands down the sides of the box while he crouched down. “That's amazing…. I had no idea they were even…” He gave a shaky exhale and just let his hands rest on the edges of the box. No, _no,_ he would _not_ cry before he could even open the first letter. Mark was already getting too emotional. He didn't know what to take first or what might be waiting for him inside.

Jack flopped onto the couch behind Mark, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “They love you. I guess they've been planning this in secret for a while now. I had no idea either!”

Mark twitched from the contact but didn’t pull away. He actually leaned into the press of Jack’s fingers after a few moments of hesitation. Some of the tension that had started locking up his muscles seeped away and he huffed out a soft sigh. “Sneaky rascals, all of them. They always surprise me with stuff like this…. I probably should’ve seen it coming.” This was so much more than a simple thank you or congratulation video. Unlike the pictures or recordings of brief messages flashing across a screen, the box before him held personalized letters and notes. Little works of art people made _just for him_. Mark could feel his eyes starting to burn with the onset of tears again. “D-damn it, these things always make me cry….”

“Do you want me to give you some privacy? Or I could stay as you go through it all, or I could...take some pictures, or record it, so you can give that back to them?”

Mark took a deep breath in some desperate effort to maintain a semblance of composure. It gave him time to mull over his options too. Mark wasn’t sure if he wanted Jack to _leave_. What if something accidentally triggered him? Or he got too emotional and needed support? Then again, he _was_ going to get _very_ emotional. There was no doubt about it. Mark shifted on the balls of his feet, uncertain, then plopped back onto his butt because his legs were starting to get sore. “I think… I think recording it might be good.” The words came to him eventually as he began sorting through the contents of the box. “I… would kind of like to be able to look back on this. You know? And… you’re right, too. About giving them something back. I want them to know I got their love and appreciation and comfort through more than just a text post. We can… edit parts out, if they get too raw. For the published video. But… I want to remember this. _All_ of this.” Mark brushed fingertips along a stack of letters before looking over his shoulder at Jack. There was still a mixture of awe and gratitude spilling all over his face. “Could you…?”

Jack leaned in, brushing his lips over Mark's cheek. “I'll get the good camera. We can set it up on a tripod, and I can take pictures too, so at the very least there can be some static shots. The video doesn't have to be shared if you don't want it to, but we can definitely edit it. And how about...how about something to eat first? If this is anything like convention gifts, it's gonna take hours to get through it all. You're gonna need the sustenance.”

Heat trailed after Jack’s lips in the form of a very slight blush. Mark was still getting used to sharing _real_ kisses with Jack- well, with _anyone_ again, but he loved every little gesture of affection. He managed to return them sometimes, too. Mark might have leaned in to catch those retreating lips if he wasn’t so emotionally vulnerable at the moment. If he kissed his boyfriend now he might just start _bawling._ Mark smiled for him, though, and then jolted a little at the mention of food. “Oh, crap, lunch! I forgot all about it ‘cause of the box, Jack, this is your fault. I’m fully blaming you if our sandwiches are soggy.” He’d whipped up some hot sandwiches and vegetable soup for them using the bounty from his thriving garden and had been excited to show off his hard work to Jack. Although part of him wanted to dig right into the meat of his surprise gifts, hunger and returning pride won out in the end. He’d spent all morning harvesting and making that soup, damn it! “Let’s eat.”

“Is that what smells so good?” Jack asked. He got to his feet and offered Mark two hands up. “You know, most Septiplier fans don't peg _you_ as the housewife…”

“Nah, it’s just me.” Mark teased with a cheeky bat of his eyelashes. He took the proffered hands and rose to his feet, then scoffed as if Jack’s statement was utterly preposterous. “Well they should stop questioning just how _manly_ you can be, Mr. JackSepticEye. Or how _demure_ I am.” He primped at what hair he had and purposefully re-tied his apron strings. “I garden, I cook, I take care of the house and I look _damn good_ while doing it. All for my mega macho man.” Mark reached out to give Jack’s cheek a few rough pats and grinned when the Irishman cut loose with a hearty laugh. Silently, he was for once relieved the Ship Sinker had tried to make him Jack’s _dog_ and not his doting wife.

They convened from their unboxing to stuff their faces with the lunch Mark had prepared. Thankfully, the sandwiches were only a _little_ soggy (they dipped them in the soup anyway, so it didn’t really matter too much). The soup ended up being a little spicy from Mark’s heavy-handed seasoning but neither of them seemed to mind. In fact, Jack _loved_ the soup and giddily said so. Mark’s heart had swelled so large and so fast he had to take a few seconds just to calm back down. He’d given Jack a kiss, after lunch, just for good measure. Then it was time to get cracking.

Mark helped Jack set up the tripod camera so it had a good angle on the couch and coffee table. The top of Mark’s head would be cut-off if he stood for his intro, so he decided to just remain seated the whole time; opting for the couch over the floor. He watched Jack prepare the handheld as well for some still frames and then shoot him a thumbs-up from across the room. Mark sighed. Just a month or two ago, he wouldn’t have been able to do this. Wouldn’t have been able to sit in front of cameras unhidden and vulnerable as he was, imagining the millions of eyes watching his torment for whatever reasons. His mind’s eye would turn Jack into a masked man with a smug smirk on his face as he barked directions to the others; manipulating Mark’s body like it was paint on a canvas. Months ago, he would have panicked at the mere sight of the tripod and locked himself away where it was secret and safe. He couldn’t have done this.

He wasn’t that man anymore. Mark wasn’t fully healed by a longshot, but he wasn’t a mess either. He was getting his life back together one piece at a time. Overcoming obstacles, avoiding triggers and utilizing exercises he now knew by heart to calm down. He could walk past a stranger without giving them a wide berth. He could sit in front of a camera and not feel his insides crawling. He could go without wearing a dog collar; and he could love himself enough to love someone else. Enough to kiss his boyfriend and cuddle close with him in the early morning hours. Mark might not be “fixed”, but Jack was right. He wasn’t broken. They’d been sealing cracks up with molten gold since that first terrifying evening in the Irish rain and it showed in the way Mark could stare down the camera lens with nothing short of determination.

This was for the fans. It was for the people who had decided to stick around, that felt he was worth waiting for and supporting in his extended absence even after they’d seen him at his lowest. They stayed, and they encouraged his healing, and they told him their stories of struggle and recovery. They inspired each other. The box sitting before him was proof of that. When he smiled at the camera, it wasn’t forced for the fans. It wasn’t exaggerated. Mark just smiled; small, simple and genuine. He did his best to channel all the love, appreciation and gratitude he was feeling into his body language, his face, his eyes. Out of habit, he drew a deep breath in, then gave a nod at Jack. The camera started to roll.

“Hello everybody, my name is _Markiplier_ and today I thought we’d do something just a little bit different. You see, I’ve got a _box_ here.” Mark gently slapped his hands against the cardboard sides to emphasize. “No, it’s not Tiny Box Tim. _Awesome_ as that’d be. It’s way too big to be Tim. But that’s okay, because it _needs_ to be big. Know why?” It was obvious in his expression he was enjoying the possible torment of his fans while he drew out the “big reveal”. Most of them would know what it was, so he might as well have fun with it. “‘Cause it’s full of _love._ And some goodies. And paper. A _lot_ of paper.” Mark dug out a stack of letters to show the camera he wasn’t being dramatic (at least not about how much paper was in there).

He set the stack down and patted at the box again. “Apparently, you guys have been working on a little project while I’ve been stuck over here in sunny, _tropical_ Ireland _._ ” Mark didn’t bother with hiding the fact he looked off-camera just to see Jack’s reaction. He got an eyeroll and had to resist chuckling. “But really, I don’t know how you all managed to keep this under wraps from me. I mean, even _Jack_ didn’t know about it until today. When he brought this giant box home I thought it was his latest shipment of love letters.” Mark was clearly amused, but knew he was getting himself in hot water with his only cameraman so he was quick to move on. “Turns out, you’ve been sending stuff here to Ireland for a while now. Almost as long as I’ve _been here_ , maybe?? Holy _balls,_ guys, that’s amazing! _You’re_ amazing. And I really wanna give a shoutout to Sarah for fielding all your letters and gifts. It’s just too bad it took Jack so long to run into her. Thanks Sarah!”

Mark was beaming as he dragged the box a bit closer. “Anyway, I’m rambling here and Jack’s giving me a look that screams _‘ye be draggin’ this bit out too long methinks, Merkiplier’_.” He threw his voice into a terrible, slightly higher pitched Irish accent. “But with all seriousness and without further to-do, I’m gonna open up this baby and see what kinda swag you guys sent me! I’m gonna give a big thank you in advance to everyone and make a note here that if you don’t see something you sent in the video, it doesn’t mean I didn’t get it. We’re gonna be editing this down but I _promise,_ if you sent it and Sarah got it, then I’m taking a look at it. Now let’s see… letter number one of seventy bajillion: _‘Dear Markiplier…’_ ”

There were so many letters. A majority of the box was simply paper; sheets of it tucked away in envelopes of varying sizes. Some of them were cards, store bought or handmade. A few letters were handwritten but most of them were typed. Mark read through long letters and short ones. Letters that were perfectly penned and written; letters made by someone who learned English as a second language; young children, teenagers, adults. Mark even got one letter written in complete chicken scratch but he took the time to decipher every word. The paper all these words was written on varied from plain old printer paper to decorated stationary spotted with every color of pen on the rainbow spectrum. (One of Mark’s favorites had been a particularly bright, neon green scrawled out across pastel pink paper. whose writer clearly had a fondness for curlicues. The color reminded him of Jack.)

No matter what traits a letter happened to have, Mark read them all. He would skim them first and then, depending on the content, either read the letter aloud or keep it to himself. The video was primarily for _him,_ after all. If he did decide to post it later they could just edit the silent bits out. Mark was careful not to show any addresses or names on camera but addressed the sender of each letter by their first name; thanking them at the end. Occasionally, he’d offer a few words of support or advice himself. Every letter, when finished, was folded up neatly and tucked back into its envelope to join an ever rising stack. Mark treated them like fragile documents of the utmost importance- which to him, they were.

Yet it wasn’t just the physical aspects of the letters that differed. Mark read so many stories. Confessions of abuse, of rape, of being used or molested or betrayed; tales of being beaten by trusted loved ones or a significant other. Instances of depression and self-harm and suicide attempts gone awry. So many dark, _dark_ confessions meant to create a connection; a link between the fans and himself. Mark had heard some of these stories before but never had they meant quite so much to him. Never was he able to _relate_ until now. Until he bore the scars of abuse on mind, body and soul, until he was forced to go through a months long recovery that _still_ wasn’t over. Many of the things Mark read now resonated with a part of him that _understood._

It was more than just struggles told through ink and lead. They transitioned into words of positivity and encouragement; acceptance. People reminding Mark just how much he meant to them- not only as a Youtuber, but as a person. How his trauma hadn’t changed their opinion or view of him in the slightest. _They_ could relate to _Mark_ just as much as Mark could relate to them. He’d started crying before even reaching the halfway point of the letters and they were forced to take a break. Chica came over with Jack to sit by Mark and together the pair helped Mark through his swell of overwhelming emotions. He hurt for those who had suffered. He ached for the ones who spoke of friends and family and lovers lost to their own darkness. Yet he also soaked up all the love and encouragement from those same people. Basked in the warm, fuzzy feeling of a support he’d had all along, in the proof he was still managing to inspire others; to show them recovery was possible and things _could get better._

When Mark had regained his composure and they got back to recording, he decided to take a brief break from the letters. He showed off the other items in the box instead. There were around a dozen iterations of Tiny Box Tim; all of which he gathered up into his arms and vowed to treasure. One even had a little bandaid. (He liked that one the best.)

There was also fanart. Pictures made with all kinds of mediums and materials in varying styles. There was art of Mark, of course, being hugged by fans, standing tall and strong, beating down the “bad guys” (anonymous figures in the work; Mark was grateful) dressed up as a superhero. A few showcased him playing around with Tiny Box Tim. In one or two drawings, Jack was there with Mark. One had them leaning close with their respective mascots at their feet. Another had them holding hands. Mark found one in particular drawn in crayon with a rather rudimentary style that had him and Jack hugging in a bright, grassy field. He’d gotten emotional all over again but they were able to keep rolling after he slipped that particular art securely into his pocket. The gifts and fanart weren’t always tagged with names, but Mark gave a thank you after each and every one nonetheless.

Afterwards, it was time to finish reading the letters. He still had a healthy stack of papers waiting for him and Mark made a little show of emotionally preparing himself for the audience (and Jack). Then it was right back to opening envelopes, this time with Chica curled up at his side. The trend picked up pretty much where it left off with stories, encouragement, advice and a flood of support. However, as Mark went along, he began to pick out some key phrases; small sections in letters he hadn’t delved deeper into because he’d been so overwhelmed and excited with the first batch. Mark almost felt _ashamed_ it took him so long to realize _Jack_ was noted in more than a few of them. Some letters had sections outright dedicated to his boyfriend- but not in the fan way.

Thankfully, there were no real Septiplier mentions. Mark’s fans seemed to comprehend that gushing about the very topic that had gotten Mark kidnapped and tortured in the first place probably wasn’t a good idea, but they did bring up Mark and Jack’s friendship. People praised and complimented Jack on staying by Mark’s side from the very beginning; on not running away or abandoning him even when things got hard. They told him how lucky he was to have someone like that. A person who cared for him so deeply as to put his own needs aside just to make sure Mark was okay; to go out of his way to keep him happy. That Mark had Jack to help him smile again.

Jack didn’t judge Mark for his trauma, his PTSD or his scars and that meant a lot to people. One letter in particular had a girl confessing she was so encouraged by how Jack treated Mark, she finally revealed her own scars to the person _she_ deeply cared about. After fearing revulsion and rejection for years, she was still loved and welcomed with open arms. She’d never been so happy and she thanked both of them over and over again in her slanted, blue script. Mark lingered on that letter for a while. He’d silently read it to himself for a good reason. Now, he felt a bit guilty. Not for keeping the story from Jack, but because he was _still_ hiding something. The fans didn’t know everything. They didn’t know Mark had kept one scar in particular as far from Jack’s sight as physically possible; that he flinched from fingers at his lower back for more than just the obvious reason. Jack didn’t know.

Jack didn’t know, because Mark had made sure _no one_ would _._ Only Dr. Agon and the nurses who had taken care of Mark in the hospital had knowledge of what lay hidden beneath his shirt. He hadn’t even confessed it to Tom or his moms- granted, he had extra reasoning behind that decision. Mark had simply been too afraid; too anxious of what the truth might do to Jack. What it could make him feel. It was very similar to what this girl had been experiencing. How ironic she would end up boosting Mark’s confidence enough to confront his own fears. The letters were right, Mark _was_ lucky to have Jack by his side. Luckier still to have his love returned while his capabilities were so tarnished. Mark often felt like he didn’t deserve Jack and keeping a secret from him only reaffirmed that guilt.

Quietly, he folded up the letter and slid it into his pocket beside the fanart he’d put there earlier. His hand lingered there over the material of his jeans, expression thoughtful. It wasn’t until Chica nosed wetly at his arm in slight concern he realized he’d sunk so deeply into his own thoughts. Blinking with a little jump, Mark sent a sheepish grin at both Jack and the camera. “So! Uh. That… seems to be the last of them. Boy, I thought the box would just keep going for a while there! So many great stories and words of encouragement and presents from all of you. Thank you so much, everyone. This… it means more to me than I could ever try and explain. Really it does. I just… I appreciate all of you, so much. And I’m so grateful you’ve decided to stick around with me while I try to get everything in my life back in order. I know you all kept saying I inspired you but honestly, I feel like it’s the other way around. All of you inspire _me_ every single day and I sincerely hope I can keep returning the favor. That my voice and my videos can continue being a form of support in your time of need.

“Please, never forget there’s always someone out there who loves you. And wants the absolute best for you. If you’re depressed or even just going through a rough time, a loss, reach out to the people you love. They’ll be there to support you. I promise. And I’ll be here, too. The community will be here. Reach out to us.” Mark tapped at his chest and smiled, but it was meant for camera and cameraman alike. There was a softness to his expression that couldn’t be described with words. He felt more serenity than ever and had his community to thank for that. “Never forget how amazing each and every one of you are. You all deserve to be happy- _you_ deserve to be happy.” He looked directly into the camera yet it almost felt as if he were speaking to himself. “Don’t let _anyone_ try to tell you otherwise. Thanks again everybody for watching. And as always, I’ll see _you,_ in the next video. Buh-bye!” Mark gave his signature grin-and-wave send-off to wrap up the video. Immediately after, he slumped down against the couch with a deep exhale. Chica wasted no time in crawling into his lap and he rewarded her with a good shoulder scratch. “What year is it?”

“2040. We are old men.” Jack turned off the camera and climbed out from behind it, stretching briefly before folding himself beside Mark on the couch and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Never forget there's someone out there who loves you,” he said, nuzzling against Mark's shoulder. “Lots of someones, from the sound of it, but a specific someone right here.”

“Good to know you aged well.” Mark’s smile returned with more ease than it used to. He leaned into Jack and reveled at being wrapped up in his two favorite “people” again. His boyfriend was snuggled up against his side and Chica was sprawled across his lap, panting and wagging her tail in eager contentment. It was a little patch of heaven. He tilted his head to rest his cheek on Jack’s hair and let his eyes slip down to half-mast. “The very best someone, you mean.”

“How're you holding up?” Jack asked. “Want to just Netflix and chill the rest of the day? Actual chill, not sex chill.”

Mark combed his fingers through Chica’s fur and took a moment to just soak it all in. The softness, the warmth and the familiar scent Jack’s shampoo wafting into his face. Silently, he counted out their unsynced breaths: one-two, one-two, in-out. “I’ll be okay. Just gotta let all the emotions settle. I think I got most of my bawling out earlier.” Giving a quiet hum, Mark snuggled down deeper into the warm little love pile they had going on; perfect. “That. Sounds _fantastic._ Are you sure it’s okay though…?” He knew how tight of a schedule Jack worked to keep now that Mark was doing better and tried not to interfere with it too much. It was his fault Jack’s consistency had been broken in the first place.

“Got my videos recorded before I went out this morning,” Jack said. “The community will understand if I skip one day of hyper-monitoring. Only thing I need to do is find the post used to set this up so I can let them know you got their messages. Sarah gave me her Tumblr name and said she'd reblog it for me.” He tilted his head up to brush a kiss against Mark's neck. “I can put you first today.”

“Can you let me know when you find it? I want to reblog it too.” On the off-chance Mark would change his mind about posting an edited version of the video they’d taken, he still wanted to address the community in some way. He appreciated Jack taking on the task himself but it was something he _needed_ to do as the leader of it. The response would be much more significant and meaningful if it came from him directly.

Turning his head with a sigh, he pressed a kiss to bright green locks. “You’re incredible, by the way. I’ll never stop being jealous of your work ethic.” Yet he knew Jack’s comment about putting him first was just for show. Jack put him first _every day;_ he had been for a long time now. If Mark was in need of anything, Jack would drop whatever he was doing and be there in a heartbeat. Mark couldn’t be more grateful and it was a reason Jack deserved to know what he was keeping secret. Still, he could bring it up later. Right now, Mark ignored the small tingle in his lower back and focused on the love surrounding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	74. 8/3: Permanent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark takes a leap of faith. Maybe even several.

Later that day, after a dinner of pizza and Mark dragging Jack outside to watch the sun set over the River Shannon, the two were getting ready for bed. Jack had successfully finished his work and gotten the Tumblr post Mark needed. The response to his reply was massive. Even those that hadn’t known or been part of the project commented; cheering on Mark and thanking the ones behind it. He was ecstatic the gesture had tugged his community a little closer together. It was also a deciding factor in his video decision. Mark told Jack he wanted to work on editing it for the masses tomorrow and Jack, of course, promised to help. It was late now though, and Mark would have been more than ready for bed on any other night.

However, the video wasn’t the only thing he’d made up his mind about that day. Mark’s fingers twitched on his sweatpants as he looked over to the folded up papers on the nightstand, the fanart and letter he’d stowed away in his pocket earlier. The rest had been put back in the box and set aside for whenever Mark would return home. These two he’d kept out for a reason. Mark was almost tempted to read through the letter again. He’d already folded and unfolded it so many times the creases were at risk of tearing, yet it was the only immediate support he had for what he about to do; what he was about to confess. Mark needed all the reassurance he could get.

He was still fidgeting when Jack finally joined him in the bedroom and Mark looked up from where he was sitting on the edge of their bed, clearly anxious. He didn’t want to worry Jack but there was no getting around his nerves. All he could do was measure his breathing and pretend the mark on his back wasn’t slowly searing itself deeper into his skin. He gave a slight shiver.

“Jack. I… can we, uh… could we talk, for a minute? Sorry, I know you’re probably tired, it’s just… important. Please?” Mark hesitantly patted the spot beside him on the bed. It didn’t matter if he already knew Jack would give him the world on a plate if he asked for it, he still tried his best to be courteous.

“Yeah, yes, of course. I'm not that tired, it's alright.” Jack tossed his dirty clothes in the general direction of the hamper and climbed onto the bed beside Mark. “What's on your mind?”

Mark took a deeper breath. Okay, he’d gotten Jack to sit down with him. The other was ready to hear him out about anything. He hadn’t touched Mark; left his body language completely open. There was nothing to be afraid or wary of. Briefly, he looked at Jack with shining appreciation and gratitude. He always seemed to inherently _know_ just how to handle any situation Mark put them in. The fans were right: he had to be one of the luckiest people alive. “Thanks. Okay. Okay, uh… so….”

Crap. Now what? Mark’s mind drew a blank on how to appropriately address the subject. Jack knew he had scars; knew he had dozens on his back alone and he knew Mark’s lower back couldn’t be touched at all, but… There was no way he’d connected the dots, not the important ones. There’d been _so many_ videos and pictures that the chances of Jack remembering _one instance_ in a sea of Mark’s tortures was too slim to even consider. Mark couldn’t beat around the bush with this. Not if he wanted Jack to comprehend the horror to its fullest extent. He swallowed hard. “Jack… Sean, I… I have to tell you something. And it’s not gonna be good. It’s… it’s ugly. And horrible. And awful and god, Jack, I’m so, so sorry if this fucks you up I’ve been holding it back on purpose because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want it weighing you down because you’re so good- so good to _me,_ you don’t deserve it, but I….”

He purposefully met concerned blue eyes with shadowed brown. “You _do_ deserve to know. Especially now that… that we’re boyfriends.” The tips of Mark’s ears _still_ went pink at the use of that word and he glanced down and back up to Jack, hands squeezing at the edge of the bed. “I just… please don’t be upset that I kept it from you. That I asked Dr. Agon to keep it from you. Please.”

“Mark…” Jack placed his hands palm up on the bed between them. “Mark, whatever it is, we'll face it together. Just like we've done everything else. I'm not...You're allowed to have your secrets. I won't be mad if you don't tell me everything. Especially not...You need to heal from some stuff before you can even begin tackling other stuff. Like with the collar. It wasn't even worth _trying_ to break your dependency until we could consistently calm you down from panic attacks. Your healing will come one step at a time.”

Mark didn’t immediately take Jack’s offered hands. He just sort of looked at them while Jack spoke because they were a less anxiety-inducing focal point than his face. ‘ _It’s not really a choice about facing it together, Jack. I’m sorry.’_ He didn’t say the words out loud. Jack would understand soon enough if Mark could just spit it out already. Luckily, Jack knew just what to say. Keeping secrets was exactly what Mark felt so uncomfortable about. Jack wasn’t like his fans, he deserved to be clued into a lot more of Mark’s personal life- especially with them _living together_ ** _and dating._**

Jack said it was okay and promised he wouldn’t be mad. Mark felt some relief ease alongside his anxiety. He could do this. Jack was right, they hadn’t just gone and tackled everything at once. They’d taken baby steps. They’d addressed certain issues as they arose and moved on to others once Mark had a better handle on the worst of it. Hell, they were only just now beginning to touch upon how badly his sexual assault had affected his psyche. If Mark failed to notify Jack of something until now, he probably had good reason for it- and he did, but with their new relationship it was only a matter of time before Jack found it himself. Mark didn’t want that to happen.

“You don't...you're not slowly _dying_ , are you? Or contracted an incurable STD?”

Mark scoffed at the dramatic questions and finally took Jack up on his silent offer. He unclenched his fingers from the bed to press their palms together, relishing Jack’s warmth. “No, no, god no, Jack. I would have told you about those ages ago if that was the case. I couldn’t have kept something like that from you.” Mark played along anyway and shook his head, then bowed it a little as he tiptoed back into treacherous waters. “It’s… it’s nothing he had to _take care of._ Just something he saw. _Because_ he was taking care of me. I… Jack. I know you watched the things on that website.” Mark looked back up to Jack and hurried along. “And it’s okay! It is. I understand why you did it. I’m not… I’m not mad. I’m _not._ But… you saw them. So… do you remember that one where they… where….”

Jack curled his fingers loosely around Mark's and squeezed gently.

Mark didn’t want to think about it; he _didn’t,_ but he had to. He had to think about the cause if he was going to bring up the result. Mark worked his jaw, sucked in a tight breath through his nose and forged stubbornly ahead. “...the one where they tied me facedown on my stomach and carved into my back with a knife?”

Jack flinched at the memory, but he nodded. “I remember it,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” The words were a reflex to Jack’s flinch. Mark knew those images had affected his boyfriend, even if it was a different sort of trauma compared to his own. This was going to be several levels of discomfort and metaphorical agony for the both of them. He squeezed at Jack’s hands but couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, not with what he was about to explain lingering on his tongue. At least he wouldn’t have to describe the scene itself.

“They weren’t just… they weren’t randomly carving into my back. I mean yeah, they wanted to hurt me and leave a scar. That was a thing. But… it wasn’t a bunch of lines or symbols or anything. They carved something specific there. Something no one could probably make out between the dimness and the blood and…” Mark had to stop and draw another breath. He was significantly trembling and knew he must look like he was on the verge of a breakdown. However, if he stopped now he’d just have to work up to this point again later. He needed to push through while he had the proper momentum, no matter how nauseous he was feeling from the memory or how horrified Jack’s expression was already turning. “They… they’re letters, Jack. They carved letters… into my back….”

Jack rubbed Mark’s fingers, letting go only when Mark did.

Shakily, Mark pulled his hands back so he could turn around in his seat. Mark couldn’t say it, he _couldn’t._ Jack was going to see it anyway, in some way. He might as well get it over with and let the visual speak for itself. He stared hard at the papers still sitting innocently on the nightstand. _‘“She still loved and accepted me for who I was, even after seeing the scars”, huh?’_ His fingers twitched, but Mark willed them to grip the hem of his night shirt. He forced his arms to slide up and take the material with them, revealing his mutilated back. The whip scars were nothing new. Mark hunched forward a little and let his head fall with the motion. “I’m so sorry….”

It took a few moments longer than he expected, but then, Jack didn't know what he was looking for. Mark did. Mark knew _exactly_ where every last scar on his body was. Jack found it eventually, though. Mark knew from the way steady breaths abruptly halted with shock. He knew from the thick silence. From quivering breaths so close to his own while Jack no doubt gawked at the sight with dread and Mark’s stomach clenched.

 _S_ and _M,_ carved oh-so-brutally into the flesh of Mark’s lower back. The lines were tilted and sloppy. The skin surrounding the marking was spotted and pockmarked from callous knifework. Mark hadn’t dared to examine it closely in ages, not since that incident with the bathroom mirror, but he doubted much had changed. Perhaps the last bit of scabbing had long fallen away. Maybe the letters were faded. Or maybe the entire spot was angry red and pale white; doomed to never heal properly, like his fingers. One thing Mark knew for certain was the scar hadn’t disappeared. It didn’t matter if he stopped looking at it because he could _always_ feel it. Just like he used to feel their eyes on him.

“S-Sean McLoughlin?” Jack asked.

Mark’s nausea doubled at the horrified way Jack stuttered his actual name, as if asking Mark for confirmation. He probably wouldn't have believed it either were their situations reversed and he curled further forward so he could hug himself. What did it matter if it fully exposed his back and ribs; all the scars spotting his flesh? Jack had seen it, he finally knew. Mark dug hands into his shoulders while his shaking gradually worsened. He could feel his breath coming shorter and shorter but his control was slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to know what they did. It was already bad enough your name was part of the concept they abused. But then they… th-they just had to make it worse. They had to fucking br-brand me. Brand me as _yours._ I was so mortified. I was so _scared._ I thought they were going to paralyze me. I wanted to struggle to mess them up. To ruin the letters and their plans but I couldn't risk it. I could barely move from how they'd tied me down and there was nothing I could do, Jack. Nothing I could do to stop them I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry….” His breath hitched, his lip began to tremble and he braced himself for the inevitable stream of tears. Unlike earlier, these were anything but happy.

“Can I…” Jack hesitated, then scooted himself a little closer on the bed. “Mark, can I… touch them? Touch _you_?”

Mark shuddered because of course Jack would want to touch; it was natural human curiosity. Touching them would solidify the fact they were, indeed, _real._ Mark had reached back to brush them with his own fingertips more times than he could count but other than medical staff, no one else ever had. Jack would be the first- _deserved_ to be the first. They were his initials. He was the one bound to Mark by scars.

Mark was barely holding himself together by threads. “...yeah. Y-yeah, you can… you can touch, Jack, I just…. C-careful, please. It's still… i-it's still a little sensitive….” He remained hunched forward on the bed, curled up, and braced for the foreign touch. He couldn't stop himself from holding his breath with unbridled trepidation.

Jack touched Mark, and though he didn’t have an anxiety attack, it was the last bit of pressure he needed to finally break the metaphorical dams. Tears started slipping freely from downcast eyes while his breaths shuddered almost painfully in his chest. He twitched, when Jack touched him, but didn't pull away or flinch. He still believed the marks were Jack's as well as his own. He could feel calloused fingers smooth over bumps of scar tissue and it made him hiccup.

“Mark? Mark, can I… can I hold you? And… and kiss you? And just… Just _love_ you? Please?”

Mark sniffled. _“Please.”_ His entire face felt broken and trembling as he pressed back against that hand; noted how it completely covered the little scratch of letters. Heat gathered there, from Jack’s palm or his own shame he wasn’t sure but Mark knew he wanted Jack’s arms around him again. He wanted to feel that Jack still loved him and wouldn’t be disgusted or scared away by what **_they_** had done. “Please, touch me, Jack. I n-need you. I need you to know I love you, please, please don’t feel like this changes anything. Please don’t _let_ this change anything it doesn’t m-mean anything Jack you don’t own me. N-no one owns me only _I_ own me I d-don’t care what they said….” He’d dissolved into muttering mostly to himself but the consent was there.

Jack leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist and pressing lightly against his back. “Mark, _I love you,_ ” he murmured, touching his lips to Mark’s neck. “I love you, scars and all. You don’t have to beg, don’t _ever_ have to ask for my love. You already have it.”

Mark shivered from the contact but didn’t pull away. Jack was warm and soft against his back and the arms around his waist were loose, but secure. Just the way Jack knew he preferred being held. Mark snuffled out another quiet sob and let one of his arms drop to Jack’s, squeezing fingers over a pale hand. The other lifted to scrub at his face as his rumpled shirt got caught up between their bodies. The kiss on his neck led to a full body shudder and his next exhale came out short. “Jack….”

“Thank you,” Jack whispered. “Thank you for trusting me with this. For trusting that you don’t need to hide. Not from me.”

Mark could feel the steadying rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest where it was pressed up against his back. He tried to sync up with it and was minorly successful; more oxygen helped him calm down though the tears continued to fall without any signs of stopping. Not when Jack was murmuring so sweetly into his ear. Mark’s throat seized up with a fresh sob and he scrubbed more futilely at his soaked face. He was fully crying now, hard and raw and ugly. “I d-don’t want to h-hide from you a-a-anymore….” The words were barely comprehensible through his choked breaths but he forced them out anyway because it was the truth. Mark still had to conceal so much from his family, his friends, the fans. Jack knew more about him than anyone. Jack was tied to the Ship Sinker much as he was. If there was anyone Mark could spill his heart out to, it was Jack.

“I…” Jack squeezed his arms around Mark’s sides and nuzzled against his neck. “Mark, can I… can I try something? There? Can I kiss you there?”

Mark’s trust extended to more than mere confessions. He trusted his body with Jack as well. No one else knew just where and how to touch; when to ask, when to offer. Only Jack, and so Jack was asking again, wanting to kiss at the newfound scar. Mark couldn’t wrap his brain around the _why_ of it. He knew the lettering was rough and jagged and _ugly_ but he trusted Jack. He trusted Jack knew what he was doing and had faith in his ideas. Belatedly, Mark nodded, because he didn’t trust himself with any more words.

Jack kissed the side of his neck again. “I love you, Mark,” he repeated. “No matter what. If you need me to stop, just say something, or pull away, or push me away. Kick me off the bed. I don’t care. I won’t get upset. I promise. Just like I said, your comfort and security comes first. You _are_ safe here, with me. I promise.”

Mark just gave another nod. He knew if he opened his mouth the only sound either of them would get was a sob. He had his hand pressed there as if he could physically push them all back down but a few stubbornly slipped past his sealed lips.

One more kiss was pressed against Mark’s jaw, and then Jack was pulling back slowly, letting his hands slide around to Mark’s sides as he unwrapped his hug to look at Mark’s exposed back again.

The loss of Jack’s arms around Mark was disappointing. He clung to them to the very last inch and then reached back without a hint of hesitation, grasping at Jack’s fingers still. Due to his hunched posture, his shirt managed to remain mostly rucked up around his shoulder blades.

Jack had full reign and he leaned down to touch his lips against the S. He kissed it, traced the S with his lips and touched his tongue to the M. He didn’t abuse the control, or even take advantage of the skin laid out before him.

Jack merely did exactly as Mark had requested and the first press of lips set Mark to jolting. It was an unfamiliar sensation; none of the kidnappers had kissed him there. They pressed and scratched and grinded the heels of their boots, yes, but never kissed. It was strange and left the spot feeling tingly with every brush of soft lips. Mark was still shivering. The gentle wetness of Jack’s tongue set his back muscles to tensing with further surprise and he whimpered, weak and quiet, in the back of his throat.

Except Jack didn’t stop there. Mark was startled when his boyfriend moved up the expanse of his back to the older scars there. Crisscrossing, intersecting lines of various thickness, depth and length. Unlike the lettering down below, there was no point to the markings; no aesthetic beyond causing pain. He could still recall being on his knees, hands bound too tightly behind his back while one of the men brought down several kinds of whips upon it. Mark hadn’t seen the camera that time, but he knew there was footage of it. Images Jack must have seen. It didn’t stop him from showering the raised lines of long healed welts with licks and kisses. The gesture was so affectionate Mark was forced to start biting at the meat of his finger in response.

He was sobbing still, maybe even harder now, because he knew what Jack was doing and it made him ache. He could feel every little kiss and knew when Jack hit a scar compared to unblemished skin. It felt nice and soft and sweet on a body that had experienced anything but, and he broke down in a good way. Mark cried and melted in the wake of Jack’s mouth. Under his breath, he finally found his voice. “...y-you don’t have to, you don’t have to, Jack, you d-don’t… you don’t, it’s o-okay…”

“I want to,” Jack murmured, rubbing his thumbs over Mark’s skin while he continued to kiss his way along Mark’s back. He kept finding new scars with his tongue, tracing the lines of whip lashes up Mark’s ribs. “Mark, I _want_ to. I want to touch you, to kiss you, to taste your skin and learn how to love you. I _want_ this. You. Exactly as you are.”

“I-I'll never understand wh-why….” Mark really wasn't sure if he could, no matter how high his opinion of himself rose with others’ reassurances and coaxing. The fact Jack could still see his scarred body as beautiful and no less deserving of love would always confuse even a small part of him, yet Jack was following up his heartfelt words with more lips and tongue. He covered Mark’s scars and skin with his affection like it were a soothing balm. Physically, it felt _amazing_ on the stretched and ragged skin. Emotionally, Mark’s heart was aching. Mentally… he could shove the mental aspect aside for now as he continued to sniffle. His sobs were dying down, but he was still wiping futilely at his soaked face with the hand not clinging to Jack’s fingers. “...but I still l-love you too. I'm sorry they dragged you into this…. I-it's not fair….”

“Life isn't fair. It's never fair. That's why it's our job, as intelligent people, to try to balance the scales as much as we can.” Jack nuzzled against Mark's spine and dragged his tongue along Mark’s ribs. He slid his hands forward again, folding Mark into another hug.

“D-don't you go getting all philosophical o-on me now, Sean McLoughlin.” Mark was fighting a smile, though. Jack was just so damn optimistic, _always._ Mark tried to have such a remarkable disposition but felt himself trailing into pessimism far too often, even before his kidnapping. Now, it was much, much harder to maintain such a positive outlook but that's why he had Jack. Jack to remind him of the good and the bright side of a bad situation. Jack could always tug Mark’s stubborn, wallowing brain back into the light. He snuffled and shivered at the last little lap of Jack’s warm tongue. Wiping his eyes one more time, Mark dropped his hand so it could join the other in hugging the arms wrapped around him. He squeezed them tight and subtly coaxed Jack to lean in again; to press into his back. He wasn't being _held down,_ he was just being _held._

“They dragged me into this? Fine. I'll make them regret it by loving you so much more than they ever thought I would. They want me to own you? If I have any claim on you, it's as my boyfriend, exact same as you have on me. _Exact_ same. I'm not better than you, or above you. I'm not your fucking _master_. I'm just Jack, and I just love you, and I _still_ find it hard to believe that I can do this to you. That you let me, _want_ me.”

Mark drew in a ragged breath and turned his head to catch Jack’s face in his peripheral vision. “ _Of course_ I w-want you. You doof. What's not to want? You somehow manage to b-be this illegal combination of hot and adorable. You've got the most _gorgeous_ blue eyes I've ever seen in my entire life. Your smile could power a whole city for _days_. I love your smile. I love _you_ so much Jack don't make me fucking count the ways. We will be up _all night_ and it'll be all your fault because e-every time you doubt yourself I just can't help but talk myself hoarse reminding you about just how _amazing_ you are. You big idiot. Of course I love you, of course I want you. There h-hasn't been a day since I came back that I haven't… that I haven't felt like the luckiest man alive… to have you.” Mark ducked his head forward again in an effort to conceal his blush. He embarrassed himself with how passionate he could get but he hated when Jack’s self-consciousness reared its ugly head. Jack was deserving of the world _and more._

Jack was pressed against Mark's back, listening quietly the whole time. Mark could feel the heat of his face growing redder against his skin as Mark defended his love so passionately. Jack nuzzled into the curve of Mark's neck, tightening his arms around Mark's waist. “I could say something stupid about better ways we could be ‘up’ all night,” Jack mumbled. “But…”

Mark scoffed softly. “You still said something stupid.” He almost closed his eyes at the now familiar sensation of lips pressed against his neck, but caught himself at the last moment. No need to take any unnecessary risks. Not when the reveal had gone over so well. When Jack was pressed up against him, kissing at his skin, and Mark hadn't panicked yet. He wouldn't be so reckless as to close his eyes now.

Jack sighed. “Don't...Don't feel like you have to force yourself to try anything for me, okay? I'm happy just getting to hold you each night. Intentionally.”

“I know…. I know, it's just like… like my recovery. How you told me not to push. Just… instead of healing, it's new steps in our relationship- well, damn, I guess it still counts as healing but… whatever. You get the point.”

Mark huffed out an irritated breath through his lips and furrowed his brow in thought. “I love it when you hold me. I do. And I like holding you too. But… that thing you were doing? Kissing and licking at my… it felt good. _Really_ good. I… I kind of want…” He paused to lick nervously at his lips. He wasn't sure if caving to his desires was the best idea, but Jack was warm and pliant and subtly needy at his back. He didn't want the moment to just end like this. “...could you do that? Some more? Maybe in a position that I could… see you? Oh my god, this is so embarrassing I'm sorry.” He buried his burning face in his hand with a soft groan and might as well be a prepubescent about to have his first time from the way he sounded.

“Um…” Mark could hear Jack’s frown in his tone as he brushed his mouth back and forth over Mark's neck. “Still at your back?”

“Uh, well, I mean….” Mark knew he couldn't watch Jack smother his back with kisses. Not without a few mirrors, anyway, and those were out of the question. (Not that they'd try it if Mark wasn't triggered by them because the idea itself was just _weird._ ) He'd hoped Jack would catch on to his subtle offer and, well, he wasn't disappointed. He shivered gently as he felt those calloused fingers trace a different scar; a narrow burn from the hot poker, if he remembered correctly. Mark sucked in a breath. “I just want to see you. A-and feel you. I want you to feel me, Jack, I know I'm not being very coherent right now I'm sorry. I just…”

“Or do you want me in front of you? Here? I'd...I'd be up for trying that. If you are. Heh. Up.”

Mark bit at his lip to hold back a giggle. “D-damn it, Jack, you're making this _harder.”_ Nope, now he was definitely snickering under his breath. Granted, the immature dick jokes helped him to relax a little. The situation didn't feel so abnormal or threatening if it was just Jack and himself sitting in bed making stupid dick jokes. That was normal. He sighed in an effort to stop giggling. “...they never really kissed me, much. Not gently like you were. I… I want to feel that again. I want to see you- to _know_ it's you. I just… show me this doesn't have to be hard and rough and _terrifying._ Please. I want you to show me. So I won't be scared.” They could go slowly and stop at any time. It was enough of a buffer to make Mark want to try.

“I hope I am,” Jack murmured against Mark's neck, pressing a kiss to Mark's pulse beating in his throat before he drew away. “Okay. Okay, let's...how do you want to do this?”

Jack released Mark so he could crawl around in front of him. He took Mark's shoulders to help him sit up. “Do you want to sit up?” Jack asked. “Or lie down? Shirt on or off or...sorry. Shit. Peppering you with questions probably isn't very sexy.”

Mark glanced down before he could stop himself. He got an eyeful of Jack hosting the beginnings of an erection and quickly his head snapped back up. As if he wasn't blushing already, his face blew up with a deep red color. Mark swallowed hard. ‘ _Jack, Jack, it's Jack. It's just Jack. Listen to his voice. Listen to his nervous questions they never asked you for your opinion like this did they? No, no, they just took what they wanted but Jack isn't even pushing. He's just asking; only asking. He's waiting… waiting….’_

Jack was waiting. Mark shuddered out of his mental loop and forced his gaze back to Jack’s face. His hands found a place there, cupping at round cheeks and brushing along rough stubble. He just held Jack like that and breathed for a moment. Then he spoke in a tone so deep it rumbled in his chest like a velvet rock slide.

_“Kiss me.”_

Jack slid closer to Mark, one arm folding around Mark's waist as Jack leaned in and brought their lips together.

The soothing sensation that eased down Mark’s throat was exactly what he’d been seeking out. Like this, it didn't matter if Jack was getting hard; if he had a bulge in his pants. Kisses were little reminders that Jack _wasn't_ ** _them-_** not by a long shot. Mark reveled in the taste and feel of Jack’s lips for a few indulgent moments and was even bold enough to lick at them, just a little. He sighed deeply from his nose as his tensions slowly unwound from his back and shoulders. Silently, Mark said thank you with his lips, and started to maneuver their bodies on the bed.

He did his best not to break contact with Jack. They snapped apart, once or twice, but otherwise remained lip locked while Mark took advantage of his returning strength. With a few twists and turns and some awkward contorting he was finally able to settle down with his boyfriend.

Mark’s back was leaned easily up against the headboard, supported by a pillow or two. Laying down was a bad idea. Rather than having Jack between his legs or straddling his lap (both risky positions), Mark set his Irishman just to the side of his thighs. That way Jack could lean in and have easy access without triggering Mark. He let the kiss linger a bit longer before finally sitting back, stealing a few more pecks as he went. His hands cradled Jack’s face for a moment, expression tender, then slid up to comb through the sides of Jack’s hair. His fingernails dragged along Jack’s scalp and he breathed. “We can take our shirts off, but we need to do it together. Okay?” It was the only way.

Jack shuddered and sighed. “Okay.” He leaned in to take another soft kiss, pulling Mark’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently. “Okay, we should...do that. If you want…”

 _Oh._ Well that was. If Mark hadn't been hard before, he was _now._ His tongue ran over the spot where Jack’s teeth had taken hold and silently, he made a note that Jack had a few kissing tricks up his sleeve. “I want. I _do._ I promise, I'll stop us if I start getting messed up.”

Mark waited until Jack was reaching back to grab at his own collar before taking any action himself. They had to do it at the same time so Jack wouldn't be able to watch Mark remove his shirt. Once it was off, Mark would have a distraction. He would have visual proof they were on equal ground. He hurriedly tugged off his own rumpled nightshirt and let it fall carelessly off to the side. The rush had made his hair floof up a bit but done the trick. Jack sat shirtless before him- and, shy? Nervous? His face was pink and he looked like he was trying to hide himself as subtly as possible. Mark couldn't understand it.

“Sean fucking McLoughlin if I need to start waxing poetic about how goddamn beautiful you are again I'm going to kill _both_ our boners and then it's like that skeleton dude from Undertale says: _‘we’re gonna have a bad time’._ ” Mark’s eyes slipped over Jack’s exposed torso in a way they never had before. Before, when Jack was just the friend. The “fellow dudebro” having fun in the pool or making some silly vlog. Mark had never taken in the details, but now he found himself seeking them out; every little dip and contour of dazzlingly pale skin. How lean Jack’s musculature was compared to his own. _Beautiful,_ that was the only word for it. “You're so fucking gorgeous….”

“I’m a scrawny Irish beanpole,” Jack said, his blush deepening. “But if that’s what you’re into… you do you, Marki.. plier.”

“No, you’re a lean, mean, Irish fighting machine.” Mark was quick to counter Jack’s doubts. “And I’m not the _only_ person into ‘that’, Jack. I’m just the lucky one that actually gets it.” Boy was he lucky. It was a known and mutual thought between both of them.

His hands were reaching of their own accord and Mark halted them with an anxious twitch to his brow. It took him longer than it should to properly word his dilemma for Jack. “...can… can I…. I want to touch you. Can I touch you? Please?” Whether it was from his training or his own trauma with others just taking what they wanted without asking, Mark felt the need to request permission first. Even though holding himself back made him feel as if he were slowly dying.  
  


Jack knee-walked a little closer to Mark. “You can touch,” he reassured Mark. “You can… whatever you want, Mark, _whenever_ you want. Unless I’m recording. You can do… whatever. I trust you. Okay? You can ask if you want, but you… you don’t have to. Especially not if we’re… like this.”

Mark drew a tight breath when Jack grasped at his hands, then let it out slowly as they were pressed to a narrow chest. Sure, Jack might not have pillowy pecs or a six pack or plus ten biceps, but he _was_ attractive in a different way. A way Mark could definitely appreciate as he spread out his fingers over pale skin. He was caught up in the startling color contrast for a minute before he could drag his gaze away and up to Jack’s face again. His breath continued stuttering in his chest. “...are you sure? Jack, I know you’re not… I know you aren’t a minefield like me, but I can’t… I _don’t_ want to just assume anything I do is okay…. It doesn’t feel right. Not… not after what they did. I want to know you’re ready and you want it before I do anything to you. _Anything_ like… like this. I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable….”

Jack slid his hands up Mark’s arms, letting Mark touch however he wanted. “Mark, if I’m uncomfortable, I will let you know. I’ll ask you to stop. And if you make me uncomfortable, the worst that’ll happen is I’ll have a moment of discomfort. As soon as you stop, it’ll go away. I don’t want… I don’t want you to _not_ do something because you need to psych yourself up to ask for it first, does that make sense? I trust that you’re not gonna just… grab a knife or punch me or whatever. Obviously, I’m not saying you can _hurt_ me. And I’d stop you if you tried. But this sort of thing… if we’re sitting on the couch and you wanted to put your arm around me, or try kissing or something, you don’t need to ask. You can just focus your energy on actually _doing_ instead of trying to shape the question. And if you _do_ feel you need to ask, if you feel like it’s too much to presume, you can do that too. I’m just saying you don’t _have_ to. This is… I’m giving you blanket permission, okay?”

Jack lifted one hand to skim his fingers up Mark’s cheek, very gently. “I _know_ blanket permission isn’t something you should just assume. I read a lot of Tumblr. I _know_. In a normal relationship, we’d set our boundaries and respect them and ask about everything new… but we don’t exactly have a normal relationship. I know even this much is asking a lot from you, and I don’t want… I don’t want things to be _harder_ because you feel you have to ask permission for everything. And… and I don’t _want_ you to ask for permission for everything. I’m not… I’m not your master. Even though it’s _my_ body, I just… I want you to get used to… defying me isn’t the right word, because you have my consent, but… you know? They’d… they’d insist you ask for everything, right?” Jack glanced over at Mark, worrying his own lip between his teeth. “I want us to be different than that.”

Mark gently smoothed his hands in light, curious strokes along Jack’s pectoral muscles while the Irishman spoke but didn’t stretch for more than that initially. He was still testing the waters and some small part of his conditioned brain was waiting for his hands to be smacked away. There was affection and adoration on his face, but now it was mixed with uncertainty and a struggle to wrap his brain around the concepts Jack was throwing at him. His mouth felt too dry but he spoke up anyway. “I… I get what you’re saying, Jack. I know you’d stop me if things went too far and I _know_ you’re not going to dissolve into a mess of tears and screaming if I… if I do something wrong. I know. But that’s new, and completely against everything I was made to believe in that… in the room. With them. Part of me is just so scared to… _be_ like them.” Mark would do anything to avoid that- _anything._ Including holding himself back and limiting his urges.

Having full authority to touch Jack however he wanted was… daunting. It almost made him uncomfortable simply because of his own experience. Mark had to keep telling himself Jack was providing it _willingly._ Mark wasn’t forcefully taking the consent as it had been taken from him. The fingers on his cheek made his breath hitch but soon enough he was leaning into them, seeking out Jack’s touch once again.

“...they’d force me to beg for everything….” Even things he didn’t want, things they _made him_ want. No one was forcing him to _want_ Jack, though. No one was telling him to touch the sharp angles laid out before him. Mark finally allowed his palms to smooth up and over the narrow curve of Jack’s shoulders. Thus far, his touch had been purely light and exploratory. **_They_** never let him touch them in such a way. It was always for pleasure, or humiliation, or because **_they_** wanted it, because **_they_** said so. Jack didn’t want that; _Mark_ didn’t want that. He let his fingers curl into the baby hairs at the back of Jack’s neck, his mouth dry. “...I don’t want to have to ask. Or beg. But I’m scared. I… I’ll try. I will. But it might take some time. I need to see that you’re… you’re _okay,_ with all of this. With my eyes- not just words. It’s.. it’s _important_ to me, Jack. I promise I don’t see you the way they wanted me to….”

“You’re not like them, Mark,” Jack said, smoothing his thumb over Mark’s cheek and smiling encouragingly. “You could _never_ be like them. I _know_ you don’t want to see me hurt. You’d feel horrible if you made me uncomfortable. I _know_ that, and that’s precisely _why_ I can trust you and give you this. Because you’re nothing like _them_.”

Mark released a shuddering breath. _‘You’re nothing like_ ** _them._** _’_ It should have been obvious, but Mark felt better at hearing the words.

Jack kept his light touch to Mark’s face and shook his head slightly, rubbing the back of his head against Mark’s fingers. “I like this,” he said. “I like head rubs, and fingers in my hair. I like skin-to-skin contact. I mean, I like just about _all_ contact, if you haven’t figured out by now that I’m a cuddly potato, you’re a blind idiot, but I like _this_.” He gave a little roll of his shoulders against Mark’s palms. “And, I mean…” Jack glanced down at his own lap, his blush deepening. “It’s kinda… _obvious_ , I guess. That I’m liking this.”

A fresh wave of affection flooded into Mark’s brown eyes as Jack jumped on a new tactic. That was Jack: always so versatile, always willing to try a new path if the one they were on had an obstacle too great. Mark almost had to swallow down a giggle at the way Jack wiggled beneath his hands. It was cute; _Jack_ was cute. Mark wanted to see more cute Jack and _touch_ cute Jack and… and Jack gave him permission, he _did._ Jack was showing him exactly where and how he liked to be touched, _voluntarily._ Mark’s crooked fingers twitched.

He started to glance down along with Jack and barely stopped himself. His eyes snapped back to that reddened face with a flicker of terror. “I- I can’t. I can’t look, I can’t see Jack I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t.” His next inhale was a little rough. “I’m… I’m so happy you’re enjoying this. I _am._ But if I try to see it for myself I’m just going to panic again. I’m sorry.” He hesitantly combed his fingertips up the back of Jack’s hair and watched carefully for his reaction; braced himself for the worst case scenario.

“It’s okay, Mark, it’s okay.” Jack rubbed his thumb over Mark’s cheek again, then closed his eyes and leaned back a little into the touch of Mark’s fingers. “You don’t have to look. I’ll try… I’ll try to show you other ways? And…” Jack licked his lips, cracking his eyes open to look at Mark. “You wanted… you wanted _me_ to… kiss you? Here?”

Jack moved his other hand from Mark’s arm to his chest, touching a scar that cut across his collarbone and he smiled. “ _God_ , Mark, can I?”

That was a good reaction. It _was._ Mark felt a little encouraged. He drank in the cat-like pleasure on Jack’s face and forgot his natural temptation to look down. Pink trickling into his own cheeks, he gave a little nod of affirmation. It still felt strange, to have someone else touching his scars. Someone with more intent than a simple check up but the sensation of Jack’s lips and tongue on his back remained fresh in his mind. It had felt _really good_ and Mark wanted to experience more of it. He wanted to see if it felt the same on all his scars, or if different scars would have their own responses to the abnormal attention.

Besides, Mark could keep himself distracted with Jack’s torso. He was still smoothing his hands along the dips and curves, mapping out the structure of his boyfriend with hands and eyes. He slid his palms down the flat of Jack’s stomach and couldn’t help but be infected by the contagious excitement of his boyfriend. “I don’t know, Jack, can you?”

The tease came on a swell of confidence and amusement as he noticed something. “Kidding. You can, Jack, but only if you tell me why the heck you’ve been hiding the fact you’re an outie from me for all these years.” Mark prodded at the little jut of Jack’s belly button and released a soft snort. Why was everything about his boyfriend adorable? That had to break some kind of law.

Jack stuck his tongue out at Mark, scrunching up his face. “It’s not like I was _hiding_ it anymore than you hid you were an innie.” He gave Mark’s belly button an answering poke, shifting a little closer up Mark’s side. “I’m just only mainly visible chest-up, and I wear shirts. Oh my _gawd_ , the horror!”

The poke made Mark giggle and helped to further dispel some of his lingering tension. “A true crime.” His rapidly escalating attraction to Jack certainly thought so.

Jack giggled a little himself, leaning in towards the thin, smooth scar he’d just touched across Mark’s collarbone. There was a kiss, and then the wet brush of a tongue, and Mark was trembling all over again as Jack traced his way down the mark, recreating how it was created, only with love and affection instead of malice. Mark looked down at Jack in time to catch blue eyes and swore he felt his heart nearly stop. Those same lips soon spotting along the length of another scar set it to beating again- _hard._ He bit into his own as he watched Jack kiss the scar almost reverently. Mark could recall its source like some kind of twisted browser history of his own personal torture; the rough heel of a boot scraping his skin away with a particularly vicious kick. Jack removed the searing pain and replaced it with a warm tingle of breath and lips. Mark couldn’t help himself.

He moaned, soft and weak and oh so fragile but still a moan all the same. His heart leaped into his throat and he nearly covered his mouth on reflex- but he stopped. Mark’s hands were quite snug and satisfied where they rested on Jack’s body; one tangled up at the back of his hair and the other lightly dragging fingernails down the bumps of Jack’s ribs. They didn’t _want_ to leave.

Mark let them stay, and then let them move because he felt as if his heart might burst if he just kept watching Jack shower his chest with affection. There were plenty of scars for the Irishman to devote his attentions to. Burns, cuts, abrasions; the list went on. Mark kept his mind off the memories by experimentally squeezing at Jack’s love handles. He rubbed down thin biceps and tapped fingertips along the bumps of Jack’s spine. Everywhere he touched, he could feel the subtle coil of lean muscle beneath skin and it kept his hands searching for more.

“If you need me to stop,” Jack told Mark, looking up from his chest, “just let me know.” And then he dipped his head down again, finding another scar, this one wider and jagged and dusted it over with soft kisses.

“S.. same to you, though….” _Oh god it felt good._

Jack closed his eyes, pressing his mouth tight against Mark’s ribs. His back arched against Mark’s touch and he murmured at the caresses down his spine even as he chased the lines across Mark’s skin. He brought his hand in, holding Mark’s side gently, squeezing and rubbing. His other hand was being used to support his weight as he leaned over Mark’s body, following a slice up his ribs.

Jack seemed to like the attention to his back and Mark continued making little mental notes as he rolled with the newfound knowledge. He rubbed up and down Jack’s back with a gentle fervor, then shifted to another drag of fingernails. Did Jack like being scratched? Mark couldn’t. Not yet, but he could do it for Jack. He got a groan and some light squirming in response; that was a yes. He found the little pouches of chub resting just above Jack’s pelvis and gave them a curious squeeze.

Mark wasn’t the only one exploring, though. Jack was still locating each and every scar with his mouth alone. Each tickle of lips soothed away the nightmare and every swipe of a warm, wet tongue acted like a healing balm for the phantom pains. Jack chased away the hands and tools of Mark’s demons until it was only Jack occupying the space of his chest; his stomach. Mark would be lying if he claimed the doting actions didn’t touch him deeply, however, they also touched something else. Something that was without a doubt waking up in his sweatpants. Mark’s breathing had been growing hotter and heavier by the minute. He now had to gnaw at his lip again to contain a gentle whine; a byproduct of squeezing his thighs tightly together. It wasn’t what his dick wanted, but that’s all it was going to get for now.

However, Jack had stopped, and Mark was hit with sheer disappointment before anything else. He shook it off to look back down at his boyfriend with obvious confusion. “J-Jack?” His voice had become higher pitched and breathy in his arousal. Noticing where Jack’s mouth was hovering, oh so close to a nipple, his blush proceeded to crawl its way back up to his ears. Jack hadn’t _stopped,_ he was hesitating. Mark had to swallow hard around far too much spit because the expression on Jack’s face, cheeky little grin and all, practically murdered him. His lips thinned as he grasped at metaphorical straws and, eventually, gave a short nod.

Jack offered him a bright smile and ducked down to press a kiss to Mark’s right nipple.

Mark liked exploring Jack’s body and grabbing at it to see how each little bit could make him react, but the lips on one of his own most sensitive body parts abruptly served as a major distraction. He gave a little gasp and squeezed tighter at Jack’s love handles. _“Oh.”_ One kiss turned to many, then the warmth of Jack’s mouth was on him and-

 _“Ah!”_ That was Jack’s tongue; hot and wet and almost tickling at Mark’s nipple while Jack toyed with it. The application of some light suction was what set Mark to giving off a breathy little moan, though. He wiggled a bit and pressed into Jack’s mouth. He dragged his nails harder up Jack’s back before digging them into his shoulders with a vice-like grip. He was sucking in tight, excited breaths like they were on Mount Everest and the air was short of oxygen. Mark hadn’t felt such _wanted_ pleasure since before he was taken (maybe not even then). It was warm and wet; Jack’s tongue soft but the suction of his lips hard on Mark’s sensitive skin.

He couldn’t focus. Not when Jack brought up a hand so he could tease at Mark’s nipples simultaneously. He wasn’t sure which sensation he liked more, but both together nearly proved too much and he bit at his lip again in some effort not to just lose himself entirely. It was all Mark could do to hold on to Jack’s body while he was rocked by the minor waves of pleasure. His mind tried to drift to different hands in a different room several times but he’d always drop his gaze to the shock of green and scare those thoughts away. It was Jack; Jack’s hands and Jack’s mouth. “Jack, Jack, _Jack…._ ” He whispered his boyfriend’s name like a mantra under his breath while his own hips began to shift uselessly against emptiness and Mark whined at the back of his throat.  “Jack, Jack, that’s so good…. I-it’s… hnnn… What.. wh-what can I do? I want… want you to feel good, t-too. I do. I want… to help you….” He didn’t feel like it was fair if he was the only one being touched and pleasured. There had to be _something_ he could do without setting off a trigger.

“Mark, _anything._ ” Jack pulled off Mark’s chest to glance up at him as he answered. “Anything you do is perfect, anything you want to do. Even this.” Jack’s fingers found the wet, abandoned nipple, rolling it to make Mark whine again. Jack’s breath stuttered, and he circled his hips. “I love hearing you, I love feeling you fall apart beneath me like this… I want you to touch yourself. Could you do that? Could you show me how you cum? Can I…” Jack closed his eyes, then lifted himself up to press a kiss to Mark’s lips. “Not… you don’t have to strip or anything like that. Just like this, like you can do at night now, but just...without the blankets. Or the lights off. I just...I want to see your face. I want to _see_ how you shiver, not just feel it in my arms. Can you… can _we_ do that? I won’t look down...unless you want me to. I promise.”

Thankfully, besides the little rub, Jack had given Mark a reprieve from the pleasurable onslaught against his nipples. His hands released their death grip and slid down to cup at Jack’s hips again instead, dragging him closer during their kiss. It was just the metaphorical medicine the doctor ordered while Mark gently rubbed his thumbs over the exposed skin above Jack’s waistband. He breathed through his nose as he watched Jack hover over him; listened to his murmured promises and assurances.

They were words he’d heard before, but not the same. _“Touch yourself.” “Make yourself cum.” “Be a good boy and get yourself off for the camera. Unless you’d rather get one of us off….”_ Jack wasn’t _telling_ him to touch himself, he was stating a want. He was answering Mark’s question. He even asked him if it was okay; gave him options and outs. It was as far from the room as they could get.

He breathed deep, forcing himself to remain calm- excited, but calm. They were doing so well. He didn’t want any negative emotions or memories to ruin it now, not when they’d been _so_ careful. Mark looked to Jack’s desperate, pleading face through half-lidded eyes and licked anxiously at his lips. “I trust you. I love you. And… and you can touch me, but… s-safe spots. Okay?” They were treading into highly experimental territory, but Mark _had_ jerked off and orgasmed in front of Jack before. Jack just hadn’t been able to see much. If doing this meant Mark could please Jack, arouse him and get him off without having to touch where he couldn’t just yet, then he would at least try.

Jack nodded his understanding as he met Mark’s eyes. He kissed Mark again and again, whispering his love and praise into Mark’s mouth.

Sucking in a large breath for fortification, Mark let one hand linger on Jack’s side. The other came slowly around to hover above his noticeable bulge, sweatpants be damned. He watched Jack’s face, then dropped his gaze, needing to focus. To keep in mind it was _his_ hand touching himself- no one else’s. Gently, almost agonizingly slow, he rubbed the heel of his palm against the spot and a low moan immediately spilled from his mouth as his eyelashes fluttered. He ducked his head a bit more, biting at his lip and grinding down again. Harder, a little quicker, returning to soft pants that edged into near keens and breathy groans. His shoulders hunched. ‘ _He’s seeing me. All of me. He’s feeling me come apart. He’s watching me because he wants to because he loves it, he loves me, he_ ** _wants me…._** _Oh, Sean, I want you so much, please wait for me….’_

“Do you… do you want me to keep doing what I was?” Jack asked breathlessly, letting his hands skim up Mark’s sides but avoiding his nipples. He pressed his mouth to Mark’s chin again, to his jaw, kissed at his beard and neck. His fingers skimmed over the scars on Mark’s chest and sides but he didn’t linger on any; kept stroking like he had done that first night, pressing into the tense muscles. “I love you, Mark, I love you, so much, you’re so amazing, Mark, Mark…”

Mark was tempted, but he shook his head in the end. It would probably be too much. He was already tiptoeing around being overwhelmed from all of Jack’s kisses and touches and whispered admirations. “Just… just h-hold me, I need… you’re my anchor, Jack, my- nnngh- m-my everything, here… n-now… ahh… _fuck._ ” He hissed, clenching his jaw, and couldn’t take it anymore. Mark tilted his hips so he could wiggle his hand down past his waistband. He hesitated, just a second, before muttering an almost inaudible _“fuck it”_. The appendage slipped inside his boxers to slide fingers along his dick, triggering more hitched breaths edging on quiet moans.

He tilted his head, letting Jack continue his onslaught. His own lips found the ridge of Jack’s ear and his breath was hot against the shell, words just a wisp of a whisper. “Jack, Jack… I love you, I love you Jack, so much… so much, please, keep touching me… keep grounding me, k-keep… keep loving me, please, I need….” Mark’s next inhale stuttered in his chest as he fully wrapped his hand around his dick, squeezing gently. His body gave a complete shudder in Jack’s arms.

“Always, always, I’m here, I’ve got you…” Jack kissed his way back to Mark’s mouth, stealing kisses and pulling back to watch his face. He kept his arms around Mark’s sides as Mark stroked himself, leaning in.

“Jack….” Mark’s whine was swallowed up by Jack’s mouth as he kissed him again, and again. It was all he could do to maintain enough oxygen. Still, he found himself growing lightheaded as all his blood had rushed South to leave his brain stranded. All he could manage to think about was his own hand on his dick, where Jack’s fingers seared his sweat-slicked skin, every tingling kiss and whispered word. It was such a stark contrast from what he was used to, from what he had experienced of sexual acts in the room. There were no cameras, no extraneous people standing there to watch. Just Jack and himself, on their shared bed, in their beautiful cottage in the Irish countryside with no bloodstains or padding or dim lighting to be found.

It was _wonderful._ Mark had suspected this level of intimacy with another person would feel amazing, but those ideas had been crushed by his kidnappers time and time again until they were barely even dust settled in the corners of his mind. Now, Jack was reawakening the possibilities, making real fantasies his crushing brain had been dabbling in for weeks. They weren’t quite as perfect as he imagined, and he really had no one to blame but himself- his problems. It was because of him they had to be so slow, so careful; constant pauses and steps back before he could get too lost, before he could panic.

Jack was patient as ever with him; understanding. He took everything Mark said seriously, no matter his own needs and it was like that first night all over again. When Jack had gently helped Mark achieve his first real orgasm in months, then waddled off to take care of himself in the bathroom. Mark _still_ felt guilty for that, even if Jack was okay with it. He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t want to lay in bed, sated, while Jack was forced to finish up in solitude. He couldn’t touch Jack like that, not yet, but he could take a page from the Irishman’s book.

While Mark stroked his cock at an increasingly faster pace- squeezed just beneath the head the way he liked, rubbed a thumb over a slit steadily leaking precum- he worked to find his voice. He forced it, breathy and slurred, to the forefront of his tongue. He could feel how Jack painfully controlled the jerk of his hips while Mark rolled into his own fist and tracked down the words. “Jack… Jack, I want… I w-want you to… t-to touch yourself, I…. N-not… don’t take it out. Just… don’t take it out, please, but… but I want you to… I w-want you to cum, too. I do. I want… to s-see you, mnnngh…. _Sean…._ ” He gave his wrist a particular twist on the next stroke and whimpered his boyfriend’s name, slumping in Jack’s grasp as his body viciously trembled.

Jack’s eyes snapped to Mark’s. “A-are you sure?” His own voice was straining. “Are you...Mark…?”

Mark didn’t have words anymore. He was too far gone- but in the _best_ possible way, for once. He clumsily nodded and hoped Jack would accept it as an answer. The other tended to prefer verbal ones just to make absolutely certain and Mark was grateful for that extra detail, but it was hard _giving_ them sometimes. Especially with his mouth being dragged into yet another heated kiss. By the end of things their lips were going to be swollen to Hell, but it was _so totally_ worth it.

“God, Mark...Jesus…”

At first, Mark wasn’t sure if Jack was going to do it; probably for fear of upsetting him anyway. But one of the hands left his skin, and he heard how Jack reacted to it. To pressure and friction _finally_ being applied where he wanted it the most. Mark didn’t _dare_ look down anymore. Whether Jack’s dick accidentally slipped out or not, just _seeing_ Jack touching himself could set him off so Mark stubbornly watched Jack’s face. He took in every gorgeous detail of the Irishman’s arousal, his building pleasure, the shape his lips formed when he moaned Mark’s name. _“Fuck.”_

Well, there was a word. Not that it was very useful. Hazily, Mark wondered if this was how Jack felt when watching him. What he’d experienced that first night, holding Mark as he came inside his pants. If so, Mark could understand it now: why Jack wanted to see and feel and hear him. There was just something incredibly _intimate_ about the whole thing. Working himself up and up and up, he tossed his free arm around Jack’s neck to pull him closer. He leaned down to smoosh his cheek against a narrow shoulder, stare at the blur of Jack’s stubble, drag his tongue along the throbbing spot in his neck. His hot breath shuddered over wet skin and he’d stopped keeping track of his hand. Mark let it move at its own pace, let it work him rapidly towards climax. He groaned low and deep: a rumble in his chest, vibrating against Jack’s. “G… gonna… mnngh… cl-close… so close, Jack, fffww _please…._ ” He knew he didn’t need permission. He knew, but it was _hard,_ and they could work on Mark cumming without asking first later.

Jack shuddered in Mark’s arms and Mark felt fingertips dig into the exposed skin of his hips, whimpering against Jack’s throat but inevitably nuzzling closer. He was probably close to popping the poor Irishman’s head off. They were both going to orgasm, together, limbs tangled and hair sticking to their foreheads as they moaned each other's names. He reiterated the fact it was a _good_ thing in his head, over and over. Mark hadn’t been forced to touch Jack and Jack didn’t touch Mark where he didn’t want it. **_They_** were wrong, _Jack didn’t own or control him._ Mark controlled Mark and he was going to cum because _he_ wanted to.

“I love you,” Jack gasped, “Mark, nngh, I love you, so much, I love you like this, please, please...you can...whenever you’re ready, you can cum, don’t stop, please don’t stop, wanna see you…”

“Love you, love you, love you, Jack, Jack, _Sean…!_ ” Mark choked out, voice strangled and guttural in the last moments before orgasm. He was light-headed; everything was a blur of green and white and brown and he felt like he was going to pass out. “Y-you too… you too, you too Jack, Jack… y-you… _ahhhfff-fuck…._ ” Mark squeezed at his shaft, hard, dragged his hand up and gave a quick pinch with his fingers around the head. His remaining composure crumbled and his control broke. He could feel his dick jump and spasm in his hand as it made an absolute mess of his boxers- again. The entire sensation lasted about fifteen seconds or so before his muscles gave out on him and he sunk back against the headboard; sated.

Jack gasped, then groaned, working his own hand faster. “Mark… god, you’re _gorgeous…_ fuck…” He squeezed Mark’s hip, then swept his hand up, stroking across Mark’s abs and chest.

“Jack….” Mark shivered at how sensitive he felt after his orgasm. Jack’s hands were still on him; were on his own dick. He hadn’t climaxed yet, he was still working at himself in a desperate fervor and Mark had to wonder if it was because of him. If Jack- maybe not consciously, maybe it was just his _body-_ was scared to actually release in front of Mark in case it triggered him. The men in the room had cum in front of, on, _in_ Mark dozens of times. Maybe Jack felt he would be just as wrong as they were to get off on Mark like that? Mark felt the guilt from that night crawl up his back. He wouldn’t let Jack think he always had to run away just to achieve his own finish.

_“You can...you can let go whenever. Whenever you’re ready, you can cum. There’s nothing to hold you back.”_

Jack’s words came back to him as Mark stared into Jack’s clouded eyes; at how his mouth hung open with rapid breaths. They trailed down the torso he had been mapping out with hands and fingers but stopped short of the action occurring just a few inches lower. Jack didn’t want to trigger him. Would Jack achieving orgasm trigger him? It had to be different from **_them._** Jack was nothing like them. Jack didn’t have his dick out. He wasn’t telling Mark to touch it, or suck it, or do _anything._ He was just hard, and desperate to get off- _without_ hurting Mark.

He made his decision and if he came to regret it, well… with risks came both rewards _and_ consequences. He would figure it out. Right now, he needed to take care of Jack for once and there was only one way to do it without hurting himself. The hand not still buried in his pants, filthy and sticky, slid back up to cradle Jack’s scalp against his palm. He indulged in the soft caress of green and brown locks for a brief moment. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath through his nose, he did his best to catch Jack’s heavily lidded gaze. “Sean. Do you trust me?”

Jack stared back at Mark, panting. He groaned at the caress, deep and low, his eyes fluttering shut, leaning toward Mark involuntarily. “God, Mark, _yes_ , yes, of course I trust you, I always trust you, please... “ His eyes opened again.

Mark kept carding his fingers through Jack’s hair as the Irishman stuttered out a response. He knew now Jack loved the attention and planned to fully utilize it because he had Jack’s assurance and consent. Good. Great. Okay, now he just had to… to…

_Think of Jack._

“Good.” Mark cradled Jack’s head again and pulled him forward for another kiss: tender and passionate and hopefully conveying just how much Mark _cared_ about Jack. The things he would do for him, more than he would for _anyone_ else. He kissed him, pulling at his lips, then broke away with a soft “smack”. He traced the tip of his tongue along Jack’s bottom lip and pressed the tips of his fingers into Jack’s scalp, calling his attention. He let no other part of their bodies touch while he stared into blue eyes and dipped his voice down to the deepest level he could manage while on the tail end of recovery. It almost rivaled his “Quietest Let’s Play” video. _“Sean….”_

He leaned in, dodging past Jack’s face, even though he knew Jack probably longed for another sweet kiss. He hovered next to the Irishman’s ear and purred into it with all the lust and post-orgasmic bliss thrumming through his veins. He let his desires do the talking, and threw consequences to the wind. (God, he was stupid, said every future version of Mark ever.) “You can do it, Sean. There’s nothing to hold you back. Whenever you’re ready, you can cum. You can let go…. It’s okay. You can cum, Sean. You can do it. _Cum for me._ ” He tightened his grip on green locks, emphasizing his final statement, urging Jack to just let go and take what he had wanted for so long.

There was a tightness and slight discomfort in Mark’s shoulder, and then Jack was crying out in his arms. Jerking and spasming as probably the most powerful orgasm of his _entire life_ rocketed through him from scalp to toes. It might have actually _hurt_ a little, seeing as Jack had still been trapped in his pants. If it did, Jack gave no indication. He was too busy slumping down in Mark’s arm and letting his own arms flop to the bed with the most blissed out expression Mark had ever seen. It looked like someone had scooped Jack’s brains out and left him there like that. Completely boneless, it was a surprise he didn’t just fall onto his back or his side when Mark let him go. For a brief moment, warmth filtered into Mark’s chest, because he had helped Jack. Jack was _happy,_ he did a good. He managed to get Jack to cum, _he did…_

_He did…._

Oh god, he got Jack to cum. No, he didn’t just _get_ Jack to cum, he _told_ him to. He coaxed him and pushed him to orgasm with his words and his voice and his touch. Jack had been trying to suppress it, for Mark’s sake, and Mark utterly bulldozed those efforts without a second thought. He asked Jack to take off his shirt, and he did. He pulled at Jack’s hair and directed his head into a kiss, controlled him, made him cum in his pants whether he actually _wanted to_ or not. Mark hadn’t asked. He’d only asked if Jack trusted him, fearful Jack might think he was hurting Mark, but it was the opposite. Mark had abused _Jack’s_ trust.

_There were hands in his hair, cradling his head, forcing him to look at the camera. They scraped at his scalp and tugged at the abused locks and he gave a soft moan. His hair had always been a weak spot. They found out about it quickly. And they used it to push him to the edge, to make him teeter with hands unbound and collar around his throat as he gave dry sobs of shame. “You can do it,_ **_Markimoo._ ** _Cum for me.” And he had. And he had hated himself for it._

Mark felt a massive wave of nausea roll over him and gagged softly. His hand flew from Jack’s hair so fast a few strands might have gotten caught up in his fingers. It pressed firmly over his mouth as he tried to draw in deep breaths through his nose alone. He didn’t dare try to use his other hand for fear of the mess only making matters worse. His brown eyes had gone wide with shock and horror as the realization dawned on him like a slap to the face. His insides squirmed and writhed while his brain shouted accusation after accusation. ‘ _Stupid! Idiot! Dumbass! How could you?! How could you do that to him?! You fucking suck! Go curl up in a corner you sick bastard! You’re just like_ ** _them!!’_** He dry heaved softly against his palm as the room started to spin. ‘ _No no no no, no, not now._ ** _Not now_** _it was going so well.’_

Mark hadn’t dissolved into a full blown panic attack yet, but he was flirting dangerously close to one. He was sent reeling from his own actions even as Jack sat there, as he kept that dreamy expression on his face and mouthed Mark’s name. _God, what the_ ** _fuck_** _was_ ** _wrong_** _with him?!_ He could feel his eyes stinging with the threat of tears and pushed them back. His mind, previously relaxed and floaty from his orgasm, had shifted into a mental battlefield. His own beliefs and fears warred with the words Jack had said earlier; what he’d told him when Mark confessed what had been weighing so heavily on his mind.

He didn’t want to take advantage of Jack, he _didn’t._ Not his body, his mind, his love or his trust. Jack was so eager and willing to let Mark have them all and it was wrong. It _had_ to be. _Cum for me._ Dear lord, what had he been thinking?! Mark’s breath hitched hard and painful in his chest and then instead of bile, whispered apologies came pouring from his mouth. They trickled between the cracks of his fingers as he turned away from Jack with shame and guilt. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was fucked up. That was _so fucked up_ Jack, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… please, no, no, no….”

“M’rk? Mark, Mark, it’s okay, I’m okay, it’s _okay_. It’s good, Mark, it was all good, please look at me? Please, Mark? I love you, Mark, I do. I promise. Please look at me?”

Mark could feel how hard he was trembling but at least he was keeping up with his breathing. So long as he didn’t start hyperventilating, he would be okay. He could recover- physically, at least. His guilt was still eating him alive on the inside and he shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Jack, Jack, oh fuck I fucked up, I fucked up so bad I can’t believe I… and you… it’s…. _Fuck,_ I’m messed up, I’m terrible Jack I should never have done that I didn’t even think, I…” Mark loved Jack, but how could he look at him now, after what he’d just done?

“What… _how_?” Jack asked. “Mark, I’m gonna touch your shoulder, okay? Just your shoulder.” Slowly he brushed his fingers over the spot. “How did you fuck up, Mark? I don’t think you fucked up. I don’t think anything went wrong there.”

Mark’s stomach clenched. Jack _wouldn’t_ see anything wrong with it, would he? He’d gotten what he desired. He hadn’t been there, _in the room,_ witness and victim to the exact tactic Mark had just used to let Jack achieve that desire. How could he explain? Mark was human; he didn’t want to freely admit to just how fucked up he was. He didn’t see why Jack wanted to touch him at all after what he’d done, but he let him. The least Mark could do was indulge his boyfriend after he betrayed his trust so harshly. He didn’t flinch or twitch from the contact, yet he didn’t stop trembling either. His voice left him in a half-stifled, stuttering jumble as he stubbornly kept his body turned away from Jack’s oblivious concern. “I sh-shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have _said_ that. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have made you cum like that. It was wrong. I didn’t even… didn’t even _ask._ If you were ready. O-or if you wanted to, I just… I just _did it_ and that was wrong, Jack. I did that _wrong_ I did it the same way _they_ would have and I’m so, so sorry….”

“Mark, you did _not_ do what they would have done. You didn’t… you didn’t _make_ me do anything I didn’t want to. That I wasn’t ready for. You _didn’t_ , Mark…”

“You don’t _know_ that.” Mark countered with a force, but it wasn’t an attack or aggression against Jack. The force came from how deeply his emotions were currently affecting him and his voice was rough with them, quaking with doubts in the wake of his own personal knowledge. Jack had _seen,_ but he wasn’t there. He _wasn’t there_ he didn’t know the extents they’d gone to. “Did you cum because you _wanted_ to, or because I _told_ you to? If I did that again, could you stop yourself? I… I thought it would be good, I thought it’d make you happy, and it did, but it was _wrong._ There were better ways I could’ve done it but I didn’t a-and the worst part is I _enjoyed_ it. I enjoyed t-telling you what to do and how you did it for me and… god _fuck…._ ” He had to be as twisted as his guts felt; warped by that room and those men. They were his only experiences with the same sex. What if he ruined Jack too?

“ _Mark…_ ” Jack ran his hand along Mark’s shoulder, then across his back. There were shallow scars there, four of them. Jack pressed his hand gently over the marks, covering them with his own fingers. “Mark… are you scared I’m going to hurt you right now? Right here?”

The muscles in Mark’s shoulder and back twitched in the wake of Jack’s gentle touch. He wasn’t sure what Jack was doing but at least he’d stopped trying to change his mind. When the wandering appendage finally came to rest, he knew exactly what lay beneath. Mark knew the location of every scar by heart and those shallow scratches had come from vicious fingernails; a streak of sadism in the midst of Mark riding one of **_them._** He shivered, still confused as to where Jack was going with all of this. “N-no… no, of course not. I know… know you wouldn’t hurt me, Jack.”

“But Mark… what’s the difference?” Jack dragged his hand down, tracing the scars with his own fingers, slow and gentle. “Between this and what they did? Aren’t they, at their core, exactly the same thing? A hand, fingers, connecting with your back?”

“What’s the…” What. What? Why would Jack ask that? Wasn’t it obvious? Mark finally turned his head just so he could shoot Jack an incredulous, dumbfounded look. His hand was still covering his mouth as if to prevent himself from saying anymore nasty things. “ _No._ No, that’s not… that doesn’t m-make sense, Jack. You aren’t tearing my skin open with your nails. That’s not the same.” The digits made him shiver and get goosebumps, but the touch was far too light to call back the memory itself.

“What you did and what they did are as different as this touch and that tear,” Jack said quietly, lifting his gaze to meet Mark’s eyes. There was no joking in his voice, no light-hearted quips hiding beneath the tone. This was _serious_. “At their core, they are exactly the same, but in every way that actually matters, they are _entirely different._ Were you trying to hurt me, Mark? Humiliate me? Make me feel used and filthy? Or were you trying to make me feel good? Happy? Loved?"

“That’s not…” Mark wanted to immediately argue, but he didn’t know what to say. _Couldn’t_ say anything, when Jack was looking at him like that. Those blue eyes stole his breath away even when hardened. “I…” Jack was asking him questions and rubbing at one of the scars. It was hard to focus on both stimuli at once, but Mark couldn’t try to shrug Jack off. Not when his tone was so severe. His fingers twitched and fidgeted with a nervous tension where they’d come to rest at his mouth and in his pants. “N.. no… no, of course not. O-of course I wouldn’t, I’d never… I’d _never_ want you to go through what I did. I’d never hurt you, Jack.”

His gaze dropped out of shame. “I wanted… I _wanted_ to help you. I wanted to make you happy; I wanted to let you feel what I felt just then. I didn’t want you to have to leave like the last time. I didn’t want you to be nervous you’d trigger me if you… if you got to feel good. But it still feels like I was wrong. I should’ve gone about it a different way. I shouldn’t have just pushed my way in and.. and told you to get off like that.”

“ _Mark._ ” Jack pressed his hand against Mark’s back again, then lifted his fingers to Mark’s cheek, tracing a gentle touch beneath his dark eye. “Mark, what you did was a caress. What they did was a tear. It’s the same thing, but it’s _completely_ different. And I did say you could. I said _anything_ , Mark, as long as we’re not recording. I gave you my consent--and don’t think for a moment I couldn’t have, _wouldn’t_ have stopped you if you did something I didn’t want or wasn’t comfortable with. You didn’t force an orgasm on me, Mark. I chose it. I promise. I trusted you. I gave you my consent. I _still_ trust you. You _still_ have my consent. And you are still absolutely _nothing_ like them.”

Mark leaned into that touch, just as he always did. He still wanted it; still wanted Jack to love him and wanted to love him back even after he fucked up. Jack was trying to explain how he hadn’t. Attempting to show there was a difference no matter how similar the actions felt to Mark’s conditioned brain. He couldn’t deny the logic, but feelings and emotions didn’t always work that way. Jack claimed to still trust him, though. That was enough. If Jack still loved him then it was enough. "You just looked so happy.... You looked like a weight had been taken off, like you've been waiting years for that to happen.... A-and I couldn't do anything else, so I used my voice and my hands and your hair it's... so goddamn soft, it shouldn't be legal. And I loved all the sounds you were making; you were beautiful, Jack. Still are but then I thought of them, and what they did and it just became tainted and I was so sure I'd fucked up. Th-that I'd become like them and crossed a line without even thinking and I just couldn't l-live with myself... Jack...."

"I love your voice, and your touch, and your hands in my hair..." Jack murmured, shifting to close the gap between them. He let their bodies touch, their legs brushing together, his chest against Mark’s back. "Mark...you're my boyfriend, right? We already decided that? That we're trying this?" Jack cupped his face a little more fully, rubbing his thumb up Mark's cheekbone. "That makes us _partners_. We’re together in this, for better or worse. And I love you. I _love_ you, Mark. I love you, and I want you to keep healing. That’s _why_ I gave you my blanket consent. If there’s something you want to do, just do it. Or ask me, and I'll do it. And if I don't want to do it, if it makes me uncomfortable or I'm not in the mood, I'll tell you. I'll stop you, Mark, I promise. I _promise_. It's just...It's harder to trigger me than it is to trigger you right now, so let me worry about what's too much for me, and you just worry about what feels good. What makes you feel good, or happy. You loved the sounds I made? Then keep making me make them. I'll let you know if you find a line. I promise." Jack leaned closer, brushing the tip of his nose against Mark's. " _I promise,_ " he whispered.

“Right….” Mark was. Mark _was_ Jack’s boyfriend, and Jack was _Mark’s_ boyfriend. That was a thing. In **_that room_** , there were no relationships; no agreements. Just abuse. “Yeah… yeah, we did….” Mark pressed his face into Jack’s hand and let his eyelids droop heavily to focus on the touch, his voice. Briefly, he opened his mouth to protest Jack’s initial phrasing but closed it again when he nipped the issue in the bud.

“...all I do is make everything more difficult. It shouldn’t be so complicated. _You_ shouldn’t have to worry either. I should be able to grab you, and kiss you stupid without even hesitating but I can’t, and it’s not fair. I know we went over the fairness thing already but it’s _not,_ Jack.” His voice gained a hint of a despaired whine. “I h-hate how I’m like glass with you. You just mean so much to me…. I don’t ever- _ever-_ want to fuck that up….” He’d stopped trembling but now his voice shook with the emotion instead as he stared Jack down. “...you promise to tell me even if I’m really into it? Or if I need it? You’ll tell me to stop? You’ll be able to _make_ me stop if I go too far?” Mark didn’t care _how_ farfetched the idea was, he needed to know.

"And that's precisely _why_ I don't want you to hold yourself back," Jack murmured. "When you're feeling it, I want you to act on it. Revel in it. But I do promise. If it's not good for me too, I'll let you know. I'll rein you in, just like I do if you're going too far into bad head space. I won't let you hurt me. I'm not...I'm not so completely enthralled by your amazing good looks that I'll let you walk all over me, Mark, don't worry."

The comparison was a good one to make. Jack could reel Mark back in when he was sinking better than anyone- not that many had tried, besides Dr. Agon or the nurses or his therapist. If Jack could pull him back from what felt inescapable, then surely he could stop Mark on the opposite side of the spectrum. Didn't he always claim Jack was so strong? Mark needed to act like he believed what he said or Jack never would. He needed to trust Jack's judgment and abilities- just like before, but to control instead of free him. It was a good kind of control; one everyone needed. Jack kissed Mark, and it was brief and sweet and he loved it. Finally, the hand resting over his mouth fell to press at Jack’s knee. It was his first voluntary touch since freaking out.

The reassurance about Jack's level of will towards Mark's alluring draw was perfect too. It was that exact point he was most concerned about, but if Jack claimed he had a handle on it then Mark believed him. "...o-okay... okay.... I believe you.... I do. I'm sorry, I...." His voice was tiny and quiet when he spoke again; needy. "...can you kiss me again? Please?"

“Of course,” Jack murmured, running his thumb over Mark’s cheek. “Wanna roll over so you’re not so twisted around first?”

Mark gave a shaky nod and tumbled over without preamble. One of his hands was still awkwardly trapped inside his pants but a snuggly Jack immediately took his mind off the feeling. He sighed, gripping at Jack’s knee, his thigh. He reassured himself it was real even as Jack cupped his face and kissed him deeply.

His eyes slid over Jack’s face, really taking him in, appreciating the finer details and the kiss rapidly became all-encompassing. It took over Mark’s senses and forced his eyes to close just so he wouldn't overload. The passion was still there, though at a far lower frequency, and taking precedence was a tender reassurance. As if Jack was promising Mark with his lips and instilling confidence with every movement. It was Mark's turn to melt, to settle down; folding to Jack's hands and lips without a struggle. He could hear Jack hum deep in his throat and echoed the sound.

Jack pulled away in stages, stealing shorter and shorter kisses from Mark's mouth until he could get some space between them. "God, I love you," he whispered.

"Same," Mark breathed in response to the whispered declaration. It was all he could manage right away after those kisses but, he had successfully calmed down, and his slightly heavier breathing was only because smooching tended to limit oxygen intake.

"But, mmm, you wanted to know when I'm uncomfortable? I think my hand is stuck to my dick." Jack kissed Mark's cheek, and Mark could feel the smile on his lips. “I have to wash up. Do you…?” Then he started to giggle.

Mark wheezed out a breathless chuckle at Jack's comments and shook his head a little. “Jack. I believe _my_ hand is _also_ stuck to _my_ dick. As in, _really_ sticky. Grossly sticky. Eugh. _Eugh,_ Jack. I need new pants. _You_ need new pants. Let’s… let’s go get new pants. And some soapy water. _It’s getting cold._ ” He whispered the last as if it was the most horrifying concept on Earth; certainly felt like it.

“Because I love you,” Jack whispered, leaning in to kiss Mark’s cheek with a grin, “you can have the bathroom first. And I won’t even watch your waddle of shame out the door.”

“You’re literally the best boyfriend _ever_ in the history of fucking _forever._ Also good, ‘cause if you did I was just gonna watch _you_ waddle out and compare you to an Irish duck.” It took a lot of willpower to separate from Jack, but the rapidly cooling stickiness in Mark’s pants was an excellent motivator. It squished and clung with every movement of his hips and by the time he’d managed to actually stand the disgust on his face was comical. The fact his hand was _still_ in there only made the sight funnier. Mark wiggled his legs in an attempt to unstick a little. _“Nasty.”_

Yet there was little he could do beyond taking said “waddle of shame” out the bedroom door. Mark made a beeline for the bathroom and was highly tempted to jump straight into the shower. Instead, he just ditched his pants- well, his boxers anyway- and scrubbed at his lower half until it practically _glowed._ His hand received a thorough washing too before he allowed himself back into said discarded pants. Mark supposed it couldn’t hurt to go commando for one night. As for the boxers, they went straight into the laundry bi. Then he washed his hands again for good measure before returning to the bedroom.

Mark hopped into his side of the bed with a happy, contented sigh. “All clean. Hope that stuff hasn’t solidified on your dick or anything.” He felt a little bad for making Jack wait, but, he _did_ skip on the shower. He supposed that was courtesy enough. “Go scrape it off. I’ll wait for you.”

“I was very tempted to wipe it off on your pillow,” Jack informed Mark, “but that best boyfriend in the history of fucking forever award is a pretty cool honor, and I didn’t think I could keep it _and_ use your pillow.” He grinned, then made his awkward way to the bathroom himself.

“Truly the very _best_ of boyfriends.” Mark just shook his head at Jack’s antics and waited semi-patiently for his return. Though still sated from his orgasm, he wasn’t all that _sleepy._ His nerves felt buzzed and alive from everything that had happened that night. Still, he tried to snuggle down under the covers to settle in before Jack got back. He was only semi-successful.

When Jack made it back to the bedroom, he climbed into bed and immediately snuggled up against Mark’s side. “Hey,” he murmured, sliding an arm around Mark’s back. “Guess what.”

Mark had Jack in his arms again and nothing else really mattered. They were both relaxed and content and Jack was whispering to him like nothing heavy had happened at all, like it was just another night spent together in bed. “Hmm?”

“I love you.” Jack giggled a little, tucking his cheek against Mark’s shoulder. “ _So fucking much._ You have no idea. I could spend the rest of my life trying to show you how much I love you, and you still won’t get it.” Jack gave a happy little sigh and squeezed his arm around Mark. “Good night, Mark.”

“...fucking nerd.” Mark sighed, but emitted a few soft giggles of his own. “I love you too. Sorry I’ve got such a thick head. I promise I’m getting some of it in there….” He nuzzled his nose down into Jack’s hair and just breathed for a few seconds. It was a wonderful end to a tumultuous, but overall _good,_ day. At last, the buzz in his bones settled down. “G’night, Jack….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	75. 8/19: Let's Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets a true taste of the Irish.

Jack squeezed Mark’s hand. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” His thumb rubbed over Mark’s knuckles and Mark looked back to Jack with a surprised expression that rapidly dissolved into a warm, reassuring smile coupled with a returned squeeze.

Up to that point, he’d mostly been staring out the window as the lush Irish scenery rushed past in a blur of greens and browns. This was Mark’s first actual _car_ ride since he was released from the hospital and keeping his eyes on the window helped take his mind off anything potentially anxiety-inducing in the little cab, though he was relieved to find the experience not _nearly_ as bad as his last trip in a car. Mark wasn’t scared of the seat belt or the confined space. He was even fine with the driver of their cab, a complete stranger to them both. All baby steps aside, it was a major indicator Mark _had_ recovered; that he’d changed for the better. It served as a much needed confidence boost in preparation for what was to come because there were bigger things to be worried about tonight than a taxi ride.

This wasn’t Mark’s first foray into the outside world either. Their nightly runs had expanded into daytime expeditions into Athlone proper, with Mark joining Jack on shopping trips, Starbuck runs, and one meal (it had been McDonalds, and Mark had made fun of how different it tasted from American McDonalds). Jack was slowly building up Mark’s public confidence again, though he still handled most of the interactions with other people. Just getting Mark used to crowds and getting out of the house again was good enough for now.

Tonight was Mark’s biggest test, though. Tonight, they were going to a party.

In honor of Jack’s parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, Jack’s family had banded together to throw them a party. Jack couldn’t possibly miss the celebration, and he had extended an invitation to Mark. _It’s gonna be overwhelming,_ he had apologized. _We’re...loud. And there’s a lot of us. But it’s_ ** _just_** _us, just my family, we booked a private room at the restaurant. You can stay home if you’d like some time to yourself._

When Jack initially told Mark, he’d said yes on a whim. He hadn’t let himself think about it too much with the fear he would lose his nerve. Of course, that led to him slightly obsessing over it after the fact instead. By now, he’d relatively come to peace with the possible major threats to his mental and emotional well-being. He had been curious about Jack’s family for a while, and this was the best opportunity to meet them all. Except, they didn’t know that Mark was now Jack’s boyfriend.

They weren’t out, and this technically counted as public, so they would continue on as if they were only friends. At the same time, Jack would be giving Mark a lot of physical attention tonight: holding his hand and staying close to keep him grounded.

They’d spent plenty of time hashing out tactics and what techniques they could use if Mark started getting overwhelmed. Jack assured him his family understood and wouldn’t kick up a fuss if they left for some space and air. It would be the first time Mark met the McLoughlins; the first time they met the traumatized American who had been living with their son and brother for the past few months. The thought was admittedly a little nerve-wracking.

Mark knew Jack was more concerned about their relationship, however. He’d been warned about Mr. McLoughlin in particular and Mark did _his_ best to assure Jack they could be subtle. How hard would it be to just keep things platonic for a night? No sloppy makeouts, easy. If he could resist the urge to give Jack a reassuring peck on the cheek in the cab, then he could resist kissing him at a party. He supplied a nod instead; eyes roving over his boyfriend. “Accidental model JackSepticEye” was at it again, in black skinny jeans and an open plaid shirt over a tighter tee. Mark hoped he hadn’t overdressed in comparison to Jack’s semi-casual attire, hosting dark slacks and red button-down with a black vest over the top.

“I’ll be okay, Jack. Promise. We’ve already gone over what to do a hundred times. I _want_ to meet your family. I always have. But especially now that we’re… y’know. It’s important. Even if they don’t know about it yet.” Mark felt the powerful urge to kiss him again, but he abstained with a quick lick at his lips and another squeeze of Jack’s hand. “Besides, it’ll be good practice. Gotta get used to crowds and public places again….”

Jack smiled at Mark. “I just feel bad. We can be overwhelming even in the best circumstances. It would have been easier to meet them one at a time, like I did with Tom, than everyone at the same time, but…”

“Don’t feel bad about how your family is. Under normal circumstances, I’d love them no problem. And even after what’s happened, I’ll _still_ probably love them. If they’re anything like you, how could I not?” Mark had never wanted to give Jack a peck so badly in his entire life. Okay, so maybe staying platonic tonight _wouldn’t_ be easy. “I won’t always get to choose. I won’t always have an out, once I’m back in L.A. I need this, Jack. It’ll be okay.”

Jack took a deep breath and squeezed Mark’s hand again. “Remember, if you need a break, just let me know. No one will be upset. They’ll understand.”

Mark glanced up at the cab driver before covertly interlocking their fingers. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice- or if he did, he’d keep his opinions to himself. It was all the support Mark could give Jack for now. “I know. Trust me, I’ll say something. I’d rather duck out of there and leave them wondering then have a full break down in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Just… watch for any signs I might be too caught up to miss. Okay?” He could attempt to keep tabs on his own warning symptoms but sometimes it was easier to notice from an outsider’s perspective. Jack knew all his tics and could tell if Mark was starting to nosedive. Mark didn’t _want_ to eat up all of his boyfriend’s attention at a family get-together but if Jack could spare some glances now and then it would put him at ease.

“We did reserve a private room,” Jack said, “so if you have a breakdown, it’ll just be in front of my family and maybe some waiters.” He rubbed his palm against Mark’s. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, don’t worry. You won’t have a breakdown. You’ll do just fine.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than a whole room full of strangers.” It was just a _smaller_ room of strangers, great. Mark took a few deep breaths. He _wasn’t_ going to break down, he wouldn’t. He was going to get through this night and be stronger for it.

The restaurant they were attending was apparently one of the nicest in Athlone. It felt like they reached it all too soon. The place looked lovely from the outside but the people milling about near the entrance already had Mark’s heart rate kicking up a few notches. He used the time Jack took paying the driver to count his breaths. One-two, one-two, in-out, in-out. ‘ _You can do this, Mark. It’s just some people in a building. They don’t even know who you are. They’re not gonna hurt you. You’re safe. Jack is here,_ ** _you’re safe.’_** Mark sucked in a deep breath through his nose and opened his side of the cab. The air was a bit chilly when he stepped out but two layers was plenty to keep him comfortable. Seeing Jack standing there, waiting for him with hand slightly extended, warmed him all the more. Mark strode forward and took the offered hand, possible reactions be damned. If he didn’t hold onto _something_ he was going to ruin his clothes with twisting fingers. He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“You got this, Mark,” Jack murmured, squeezing Mark’s hand and then heading to the door.

“ _Jaaaack!_ ” The McLoughlin clan pounced as soon as they stepped inside, with one of Jack’s sisters sweeping him into a hug and ruffling up his hair.

_‘Oh dear god what have I gotten myself into?’_

Served as the primary thought running through Mark’s head as they stepped inside and were immediately swarmed. Jack kept a firm grasp on Mark’s hand as they were thrust from sibling to partner, introducing each family member to Mark while they were swept into the reserved room. His own grip on Jack’s hand became iron tight and he scooted a bit closer whenever the situation allowed. Mark tried to keep the fact he was still counting his breaths subtle; aka not look like a gaping, heaving fish out of water. He liked to think he was relatively successful as he shook hands and maintained some semblance of a smile for each round of McLoughlins. Admittedly, all the names sort of blended together after a while and Mark silently hoped it wouldn’t become an issue later on.

Then came Mama McLoughlin in all her tiny but bubbly glory. Mark was amused when Jack became buried in the older woman’s arms- less so when it was his turn. He sucked in a tight breath and went completely still on pure reflex. If it wasn’t for Jack’s hand, he might have started to panic, but the hold kept him grounded and Mark was able to give the mother of his boyfriend a few stiff pats on the back before they separated.

“Ah, ye must be the poor wee American! So good to meet you, Mark, after all Jackaboy rambled about you!”

“Maaa!” Jack squeezed Mark’s hand, a bit of a flush to his face, but his mother just laughed, clearly in her element, surrounded by her family.

Mark tried not to look too shaken up as she addressed them. ‘ _Poor wee American?’_

“And here I thought ye Americans were supposed ta be giants! And fat! Goes to show what we know!”

“Oh my god we’re walking away now…”

It only got worse from there and it took every ounce of self-control Mark had in his body not to burst out laughing. He couldn’t even _pretend_ to be offended. The way Jack’s mother spoke so matter-of-factly made the “insults” too ridiculous and earnest to take seriously. Plus, seeing Jack get so flustered served as a _very_ good distraction. “Sorry to wreck your expectations, Mrs. McLoughlin. It’s nice meeting you!” He kept his tone humorous and gave a little wave as Jack dragged him off to a slightly quieter corner of the room. Mark immediately soaked in the extra space and released a tense sigh. “What have you been telling her?? ‘Giant’? Hope you haven’t been embellishing my features to your fam, Jack.”

“I never told her you were a giant!” Jack protested. “She just thinks all Americans are like that. I am so sorry. She’s… we definitely all get our enthusiasm from her.”

“She seems like a lovely lady. Beyond the ridiculous stereotyping.” Mark assured Jack with a little nod.

“That’s my dad.” Jack gestured to a taller man at the man table, holding a toddler in his arms. “And one of my nieces. I have… six now? Nieces and nephews. And, _ah_!”

Mark took in the sight of Jack’s primary concern. ‘ _I could take him.’_ Okay, so, probably not but Mark had already decided in a heartbeat he wouldn’t let the older man intimidate him if it came to that. He’d stared down worse. He was going to make a quip about just how _large_ the McLoughlin family was when a small, French-accented voice interrupted them. The next minute or two were absolutely _precious._

“Uncle Jack!” A little boy ran up, tackling Jack around the waist and squeezing tightly. “Uncle Jack, you came, you came! Papa said you’d be here, but…” He glanced over at Mark and immediately the words died in his throat, an all too familiar starstruck expression filling his face. He meeped a little, wiggling around to put Jack’s body between himself and Mark.

“Uncle Jack, is that… _Markiplier!?_ ”

Jack was chuckling, hugging the boy back and ruffling up _his_ hair. “Yeah, Dylan, this is my friend Mark. Markiplier. Mark, this is my best nephew Dylan, but don’t tell the others that. Shh. Secret.” Jack touched a finger to his lips and winked. Dylan giggled against Jack’s side. “He’s… Malcolm’s son.” Jack pointed out his brother (who had already met Mark), once he spotted him on the other side of the room. “ _And_ he’s an avid YouTube enthusiast who has watched, I believe, every single Markiplier video?”

“Jacksepticeye is the best YouTuber,” Dylan informed Mark, still half-hidden behind his uncle. “But Markiplier is the best not related to me!”

“He’s not biased at all.”

Mark let the pair have their little exchange while his smile slowly inched wider on his face. It became more genuine; eyes softening as he watched Jack interact with his nephew. It had been a long time since Mark came face-to-face with a fan, especially one so young. Part of him was glad for that detail because it was easier to interact with children after all he’d been through. They didn’t trigger his paranoia or anxiety since they were innocent; too young and small to be a threat. Meeting one clearly so enthralled by Mark and his work just melted his heart. (Or maybe that was Jack. Both. Probably both.)

Mark dropped into a crouch so he could be on Dylan’s level. “Promise I won’t tell anyone you’re Jack’s best nephew. It’s the least I can do for a fan. Gotta say I agree with ya, though. JackSepticEye _is_ the best YouTuber I know.” He shot Jack a cheeky little glance before focusing on Dylan again. “But it’s great to meet you, Dylan. Jack should’ve told me one of his nephews liked my videos so much. Don’t be too nervous around me, okay? I swear I don’t bite or anything. You can ask Jack; I’m really just a big teddy bear.” What felt like a lifetime ago, Mark might have compared himself to a puppy. Just because they’d taken that from him didn’t mean he was devoid of other options. He always felt weird when fans were scared to so much as be near him.

Dylan looked up at Jack, who shook his head. “Mark bites me _all the time,_ ” he said dead-pan. Instead of scaring his nephew, that only made Dylan giggle and grin.

Mark did his best to look indignant. “Jack! You’re supposed to agree with me!” He was still smiling too, though. The resemblance in those sunshine grins was adorably uncanny. Thank god there were plenty of McLoughlins to brighten up the world.

“You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” Dylan told Mark.

Mark pressed a hand to his chest and mock swooned. “Taller? Oh gosh, Jack, your nephew’s a real flatterer here. Almost makes me wanna tear up.” He wasn’t exaggerating his appreciation _too much._ It was an odd occurrence to hear that comment from a fan. Usually, he heard the opposite.

“Can I get a picture? My friends are _never_ gonna believe this!” Dylan dug out his phone and tapped through to his camera app. “You too, Uncle Jack, Michel’s saying I’m making it up again!”

“ _Again_?” Jack tsked, shaking his head as he dropped to a knee behind Dylan and pulling a face for the camera. “When is that boy gonna realize that you run into me way too often to be faking it?”

“Michel’s pretty stupid,” Dylan giggled. “Markiplier?” He looked up at Mark, waiting for him to get in the shot.

Mark had watched the two group up together for a photo and belatedly realized yes, he was supposed to get in there too. He paused. It was true he could be in front of a camera now without panicking or being a nervous wreck, but it would be the first time he stepped in front of a camera held by anyone other than Tom or Jack (or himself). Dylan was just a kid, true, but he was also practically a stranger. Mark looked at them as a little warning bell went off in his brain. ‘ _Danger, danger, don’t get in front of the camera, don’t do it, it’s bad, it’s bad and you’re going to be humiliated again-’_

Mark mentally dropkicked the train of thought and shook his head. ‘ _No.’_ No, Dylan was _just a child;_ he was safe. He was _Jack’s nephew,_ for fuck’s sake. Mark wasn’t going to let his irrational fear get in the way of making a little kid happy. He pushed up a smile for him again. “You can just call me Mark, if you want. Let’s show that Michael kid just what he’s missing out on.” With some maneuvering, he was able to squeeze into the frame next to Jack with an arm wrapped around his boyfriend’s shoulders. After a brief moment’s hesitation, he mimicked Jack’s efforts and pulled a silly face.

Jack snuck his hand up to press against Mark's back as Dylan took a round of selfies with them. He kept up the contact while Dylan, ice broken now, jabbered away to Mark in an excited flurry of French-tinged Irish-English.

Mark was forever grateful Jack could read him so well. He leaned into the support as subtly as he could and had muscled through every selfie with his best smiles. It became easier as they went and soon Dylan was busy just rambling to Mark about YouTube, his life in Paris and his friends. It was a good way for Mark to come back down from his anxiety. Talking with a kid, he could do that. After hearing one of Dylan’s friends liked to call them PewDiePie copycats, he even managed to make a joke about how Jack and himself were really just the Red and Green versions all along- like Pokemon. Jack was grinning, probably because half of what Dylan said in his mashup of linguistic gibberish went over Mark’s head.

Mark reassured Dylan he shouldn't get discouraged before the boy’s attentions were inevitably stolen. Dylan spotted another cousin and ran off to greet him, hugging Jack and Mark good-bye too quickly to protest and then leaving them in a moment of calm. This hug went a little better than the one with Jack’s mom but he couldn't stop himself from being tense.

Jack climbed back to his feet, his hand finding Mark's again. “You doing okay?” He asked, leaning in closer.

The moment they were on their feet and relatively alone again Mark clutched hard at Jack’s hand. He pressed a bit closer to his boyfriend and tried to remember his breath count. _One-two, one-two._ He did his best to focus on the sound of Jack’s voice in the cacophony. When had it gotten so loud? “I'm.. I'm doing all right. Guess the party’s really in full swing now, huh? You should.. you should go say hi to some of your other relatives. I didn't even know you had family in France. You probably don't get to see them often, so…” Mark really didn't want to hold Jack back during such a big event.

“Yeah, my brother moved outside of Paris for his wife.” Jack squeezed Mark's hand, tugging him closer to the wall and moving in front of him to shield him from the room. “Need a hug? It's always awesome to get us all together, but the family just gets bigger and bigger with every year…”

Mark relaxed some as his vision became encompassed by Jack. Again, he tried to focus on that Irish accent in particular. Groping blindly for a moment, he eventually located and grasped at Jack’s other hand. His breathing steadied a little. “I… I, yeah. Y-yeah, you think it'd be okay?” Brown eyes flitted over Jack’s shoulder to where the rest of the McLoughlin brood were congregating. Would they think it was too much if Jack and Mark hugged? He could really use the steadying embrace of Jack’s arms right then, and he sighed heavily. “I don't want to make things awkward for you with your family. They seem like _really great_ people. And Dylan’s adorable. It's just… the physical contact. It's hard.” _It's scary._

_“_ Pff, everyone's hugging here. It's fine.”

“Right, but that's family, if you're not sure they-” Jack’s arms were pulling him into a warm embrace and his verbalized doubts died in his throat. He could feel some pink hitting his cheeks and hoped the lighting was too dim for anyone to notice.

“I love you, okay?” Jack whispered into Mark’s ear as they pressed close. “I'm so proud of you. You're doing _great_.” He squeezed his arms around Mark's waist and gave his neck an unobtrusive little nuzzle.

Jack’s whispering wasn't helping matters at all, but Mark did his best to make the hug look platonic when he returned it. He had to resist the urge to bury his face in Jack’s hair; hide away from the loud, bustling world. “I love you too. I'm trying. It's harder than I thought, but I'm gonna do it. I will. Good to know I haven't been super awkward or anything….” Well, besides the hugs.

He let Jack nuzzle against him even if it made his blush crawl up into his ears, then gently coaxed them to separate. Much as he wanted to linger in those arms forever, if they held it any longer they would _definitely_ draw attention. Mark let his hands slide to Jack’s biceps and gave a little squeeze while he tried to put on a strong face. “I saw your sister looking at us. We should go say hi. She's probably wondering how things have been.”

“God yeah, last time she saw you, you were barely a step above zombie…” Jack pinked up a little. “She may, uh, may have had her suspicions about us. In the past. And. Um. Out of all my siblings, I'm closest to her, and...she’s a big sister. They just look at you and _know things._ ”

“Oh great. So instead of Tom badgering us about it, your sister’s probably gonna say something. At least we have some practice.” Mark was just wondering if Jack was going to catch his choice of words when their plans were abruptly interrupted and Mark turned his full attention to a familiar man pulling Jack into a hug.

“Sean.”

“Dad! Dad, this is Mark,” Jack said, when they broke apart. “Mark, this is my dad.”

Jack’s father looked Mark over stiffly and then offered his hand. “Mark, huh? We've heard quite a lot about you.”

_Mr. McLoughlin._

He was an imposing figure, that much was for sure. Mark had been preparing himself for this meeting. Jack had warned him ahead of time things could get hairy with his father and Mark felt it was fair to return the once over since the older man had done it first. He hated the familiar twinge in his gut he got from that “under a microscope” feeling. **_They_** had looked at him like that, _always,_ but Mr. McLoughlin was no criminal. He was just a dad looking out for his son and Mark focused on that aspect- the fatherly undertones- letting nostalgia of his own father wash away the growing anxiety. He put every ounce of confidence he had into the handshake and did his best to maintain eye contact while he spoke. Mark might be scarred and traumatized, but he would be damned if he didn't make this a good first impression for Jack’s sake. “I'm sure it's been nothing but good, coming from Jack. It's nice to finally meet you, sir. Happy anniversary.”

Jack's father squeezed Mark's hand tightly, not threatening, but enough to not be completely friendly. “Thank you. Glad you could make it.”

Mark upheld his friendly expression through the intimidating gesture. He’d had the fingers on that hand _broken._ A little extra squeezing wouldn’t send him running. “You’re welcome. Glad to be here.” He _was._ Mark hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted to meet Jack’s family and so far he didn’t regret coming. He could have done without the “High Noon” staredown Mr. McLoughlin was giving him but he’d been expecting that kind of treatment.

Jack cleared his throat slightly, looking pointedly at the handshake. His dad released Mark's hand and took a step back. “Sean has been overflowing with your praise for years. We were starting to doubt you were real. No one could be _that_ perfect…”

Mark let his hand drop back to his side. The comment had him wanting to clench his aching fingers but he appeased the urge with just a little twitch because he knew what the man was doing. Mark wouldn’t allow Jack’s father to get the desired rise out of him. “Killing them with kindness” was something he’d always been an expert at- outside of video games, anyway.

Jack frowned, sidling closer to Mark and nudging his hands with his fingers, but Mark just forced an “easy” smile. “He’s really too kind. I can tell you I’m nowhere near perfect at all, but I do try to be a good role model for people that look up to me. Including Jack. Personally, I think he’s grown to be a better man than me by a longshot. You should be proud.” His smile might be forced, but his words were not. He turned to shoot Jack an adoring glance and for those few seconds his smile slipped into something more genuine.

“The two of you have gotten pretty damn close,” Jack's father began, but Jack smoothly interjected before he could continue.

“We've been through Hell together, Dad. Course we're close.” His father frowned a little but nodded.

“You seen your mother around?”

“I think she was talking to Mally.” Jack gestured toward his older brother with the impressive beard. “She already gave Mark a hug.”

Jack's father snorted. “She would do. We'll talk later, Sean.”

“Sure thing, Dad.” Jack stayed tense as his father nodded at Mark and headed deeper into the party, only relaxing when it was obvious he wasn't coming right back.

Well, that was awkward. Mark had been pretty prepared to take on whatever Mr. McLoughlin was about to throw at him but apparently Jack wasn’t having it. Part of him was greatly relieved because keeping up that strong front in his current state was _exhausting._ Whereas Jack relaxed once the older man had left, Mark outright sagged. Between the intense stare and the thick tension he’d almost lost his nerve once or twice. With the source of it all gone he could safely let down his walls again. Jack would be the only one close enough to see.

Speaking of his boyfriend; Jack looked a little shaken himself. Mark turned to him with obvious concern and gently touched at his shoulder. “Jack? You okay? That got kinda intense there for a second.” Personally, he felt like he needed to sit down but Jack was the one who basically just told off his own father. His emotions took precedence in Mark’s mind.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Jack grimaced and rubbed at his forehead. “Dad can be… traditional. He’s been asking if you were my boyfriend ever since…well, ever since he knew what Septiplier was.”

Mark had to purposefully tense up his muscles to resist pressing a kiss to that forehead. He wanted to kiss away all of Jack’s distress and frustration until only relaxed smiles were left on his face, but they were in public, surrounded by the McLaughlin clan. It would have to wait. “Well, I doubt that’s the last time we’ll interact with him tonight but we can do our best to avoid another confrontation. We’ll meet up with your other family and eat and dance and have fun even if he wants to be a big ol’ sourpuss in his judgment corner. Maybe this party’s for your parents, but it’s _still_ a party.” Mark hadn’t thought _he’d_ be the one trying to build up _Jack’s_ confidence, but he would gladly pick up the role.

Jack shook his head and reached over to take Mark’s hand. “How about we just skip meeting new people and get some food and find a seat somewhere? This place is one of the best in the city for a _reason_.”

Mark squeezed Jack’s hand reassuringly. “I feel like I’m about to get dunked on by a crap ton of Irish food. Lead the way, oh culinary guide to the Emerald Isles. Try not to give me death by whiskey poisoning.”

Jack chuckled, squeezing Mark’s fingers in a far kinder way than his father had, and led Mark to the tables set for food. There were waiters to take their order from set menus, and Jack made suggestions of things for Mark to try.

Jack’s sister did end up joining them to eat, marveling at how far Mark had come and how cute they were together. _No wonder Dad thinks you’re banging!_ she had giggled as they both went pink at the compliments. Jack threatened to dump his beer on her head, and she threatened to show Dylan where he was ticklish, and they ended in a stalemate.

Most of the McLoughlins ended up eating at the same time, but the volume in the room didn’t drop one iota. Clinking glasses and silverware only added to the joyful noise of familial conversations and boisterous laughter. Mally gave a toast to his parents, and all the McLoughlin siblings, Jack included, shouted jeers and taunts lovingly at their parents, who threw them all right back.

Several hours later, Jack had finally left Mark’s side to dance with his mother at her request. They were completely butchering an Irish reel as his father came up beside Mark again. This time, Jack wasn’t around to intercede. His father had a bottle in one hand, and he gave Mark a nod and wordless noise of greeting.

Mark had honestly been waiting for this moment ever since Mr. McLoughlin introduced himself earlier that evening. He knew it would come, and his assumptions about it being _after_ Jack finally left his side were correct. He almost wanted to laugh at how by the book Jack’s father was being but at the very least, it stopped him from being surprised. Mark had a better chance of maintaining his breathing and keeping his head if he knew what was coming, and boy did he ever.

He indulged himself in watching Jack’s adorable, _hilarious_ attempts for a few seconds longer before politely turning to greet the older man. “Mr. McLoughlin. Hope you’ve been enjoying your party.” Mark gave a composed nod in turn. ‘ _Brace. Brace yourself, Mark. Don’t let him get under your skin.’_

“Aye, I have.” Jack’s dad watched his wife and youngest son, his face softening a little. "You, uh, you and Sean..."

Mark watched how Jack’s father looked to his wife with the same loving adoration Jack and himself often shared and immediately felt a good chunk of his anxiety dissipate. Memories of his own father- strong, proud, patriotic and above all _compassionate-_ came back to him and supplied clarity. For all his gruff demeanor coupled with huffing and puffing, Mr. McLoughlin was no big bad wolf. He was just a concerned father who was still trying to grasp even the concept of his child possibly being gay; what consequences and dangers that situation could bring. He didn’t have a personal vendetta against Mark, he just wanted to know about Jack.

In hindsight, seeing how _awkward_ Mr. McLoughlin was proved to be rather funny. Mark had been fielding questions the older man couldn’t quite spit out from _both_ of his moms for weeks. Thomas tried to help him curb their inquiries- and probably knew, the smug bastard- but parents would be parents.

Mark let his gaze drift back to Jack and his reserved expression melted into something more akin to the one Jack’s father had hosted mere moments prior. “We’re just friends, sir. I know it seems unlikely because of how close we are but I promise it’s all platonic. We… we’ve been through a lot together. I’d say we’re about as close as two people can get without romantic or blood ties. And when he’s close, he’s just trying to protect me. He… helps me feel safe. He’s like my anchor. But that’s the extent of our relationship. I promise.” Grudgingly, he tore his eyes away from Jack again to stare up at Mr. McLoughlin with a hint of pain in warm, brown eyes. “Trust your son, Mr. McLoughlin. He’s an amazing guy. You should be really proud of him. I know I am.”

"Yeah," the older man said gruffly, "Yeah, I _am_ proud of that boy. He's grown into quite a powerhouse."

“That’s a word for it…” Mark mumbled his agreement, but Jack wasn’t just some beginner YouTuber making videos out of his little Irish cabin anymore. He was one of the biggest on the website and one of the most beloved. He was good friends with other big names in their community and had even surpassed Mark along the way. It didn’t matter if the incident might have contributed to that milestone, it was _still_ a milestone and no matter how much the decline of his channel hurt, Mark would always be proud of Jack for that accomplishment. To surpass an idol was a pretty big deal no matter the situation. Mark had figured that would be the end of that.

Except Jack’s father turned his scrutiny back on Mark. “This… Ship Sinker fuck. He doesn’t go after both halves of the… ship?”

Mark had been wrong- _very_ wrong. He had anticipated Mr. McLoughlin grilling him about his relationship with Jack and as such, he’d been able to handle it swimmingly. Mark was _not_ expecting the man to abruptly nosedive into such a sensitive topic. He knew if Jack was there, he would have shut his father down in a heartbeat, yet Jack was still on the dance floor with his mother. Mark knew he wouldn’t have it in him to interrupt their time together.

Which left him alone with the sudden shift in conversation and Mr. McLoughlin. Mark could _feel_ those eyes on him again. He didn’t have to glance to guess where they lingered because his self-consciousness was crawling up his back. It told him to roll his sleeves down; pop up his collar and go hide in the bathroom. ‘ _They’re judging you. They’re_ ** _judging you._** _They see, they see,_ ** _they’ve seen._** _They know what happened to you. They know where those_ ** _scars_** _came from and you can’t hide.’_

Mark felt his stomach roll over with a sudden wave of nausea and had to swallow hard. He loosely clenched his fists at his sides to avoid clutching at the spot and noticeably paled. His hands felt a little clammy, he could hear his heartbeat pounding too fast in his ears and he attuned his focus purely to breathing. ‘ _In-out, in-out, in-out come on Mark you can do this don’t panic_ ** _don’t panic.’_** He breathed and Mark tried to keep his voice as strong as it had been up to that point but even he could hear the wobble behind the words. His anxiety cracked each sentence at its edges, threatening to break them altogether. ‘ _Keep it together.’_ “...it’s… not that simple, sir. Technically, he only ever… takes, one person. But the trauma he puts that person through affects the other one too. It’s… my incident, the latest one, it was the worst. But it also showed how they were purposefully trying to hurt both of us. Jack’s hurt was just more… emotional. And mental. He was tortured in a different way and I wish more than anything that wasn’t the case. They only ever get their hands on one person but they do their best to break both. And half the time, they’re successful.” Two out of four “ships” had been truly sunk by the Ship Sinker’s actions. One hadn’t even stood a chance.

“I know,” Jack's father said gruffly. “Florrie and I watched him break apart and couldn't do nothing long as you were in that room.”

“I'm sorry….” Mark himself had struggled with the fact Jack’s trauma was pretty much all his fault since before they'd even given him _back._ Jack constantly reassured him it was _their_ fault, not his, but Mark couldn't help feeling responsible. He inspired Jack to get _into_ YouTube, jokingly encouraged Septiplier and let himself get kidnapped. If even one of those events hadn't happened, Jack wouldn't be his own type of cracked up. Mark’s insides coiled with renewed guilt and discomfort. He started to shrink in on himself for the first time at the little get-together and it was all he could do to keep breathing.

“I know,” Jack's father repeated. “I'm asking...It's over? We're not gonna wake up one morning to find that sick cunt took Sean to that room?”

_Keep breathing even though Mr. McLoughlin proceeded to express one of Mark’s greatest fears._

He missed a count and his breath stuttered painfully in his chest. Whatever color was left drained from Mark’s face at the reminder of such a horrific possibility and he knew sweat was beading on his brow from how elevated his heart rate had become but his fists were clenched too tightly to try wiping it away. He could feel his own nails digging into his skin as every muscle in his body wound tighter, the sensation spreading to his chest. ‘ _Breathe._ ** _Breathe.’_** Mark had to try and keep breathing, that was _always_ the tip-off for an attack. Yet old, paranoid thoughts started creeping back.

The cabin being broken into. The Ship Sinker changing up his patterns again for Septiplier because they were just _so damn special,_ taking Mark again to truly break him; or worse, taking _Jack,_ taking them **_both._** Neither of them being able to fight off their attackers in the dead of night and no one to hear them screaming _no one ever heard him screaming._

Mark had lost count. He couldn't remember where his breathing should be and his next inhale was too large. His voice, thin and crackling ice before, had crumbled into an anxious babble between breaths. _‘I’m hyperventilating._ ** _Shit.’_** “I don't… he never came back for victims. E-ever. He just moved on. But he's cha-anged tactics before. He could. He could decide to and… and I don't know. I really don't know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your son, about Jack. I'm sorry he got dragged into this I _never_ wanted him to suffer especially not for me and I'm so, _so_ sorry sir I'm sorry, _I'm sorry…_ ” He trailed off with more apologies as his breathing became heavier and the floor started to tilt beneath his feet.

“ _You_ didn’t do this…”

_‘I might as well have,’_ came the treacherous thought Mark couldn't speak aloud. He wasn't sure if he should try saying much of anything, really. It would probably just end up being more babbled nonsense. There he went, having a panic attack and throwing off the party. His guilt redoubled.

_‘There’s so many people.’_ Mark had been okay when he was calm or tense but now, crumbling as he was, he could feel it. The anxiety of too many people and too much noise was creeping in. He couldn't ground himself. ‘ _Everyone is looking. Everyone is watching me break they see the scars they_ ** _see them_** _and they know, they know, they know how fucked up I am-’_

“Mark! _Mark!_ ”

The distant shout of his name shook Mark. Jack was the loudest person on YouTube. Even in a crowd of his own kin, his voice managed to stand out. Mark was trembling hard and breathing harder as he looked for the one constant he had. ‘ _Jack, Jack, Jack no where are you they're gonna take you they're going to get you Jack please I'm scared; I'm scared don't go, don't let them get you I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm so sorry_ ** _Jack-’_**

“Mark, Mark, look at me, you’re safe Mark. I’m here. You’re safe, okay? Can you hold it together for two more minutes? Just two more minutes, I’ll get you out of here, okay? Can you take my hand, Mark? Take my hand, and we’ll go someplace quiet.”

Hands grabbed at his own and Mark practically jumped out of his skin. The sound he made on reflex was wounded but green hair caught his eye, and then worried blue eyes. _Jack._ It was Jack, Jack found him, Jack was _safe._ Mark felt his eyes start to burn from the relief. “J-Jack….” Mark wanted to hug his boyfriend but at the same time the thought of getting so close to someone right then made his skin itch. He let Jack hold onto his hands while he shook and heaved and his vision began growing blurry with a build up of tears. “Jack.. Jack I…” Nothing; he couldn't muster the words. All Mark was capable of was a tight nod and the tentative return of Jack's grip. It was weak, and Mark wasn't certain how far he could walk on wobbling knees but he trusted Jack to help guide him back to clarity. _“Please.”_

“Come on, Mark, come on. I’ve got you. I’m right here.” Jack didn’t let go of either of Mark’s hands as he began to move.

_‘Jack's here, Jack's here, Jack's here he's safe it's okay I'm_ **_okay_ ** _.’_

Mark played the words like a mantra in his head while Jack pulled him gently along. All of his attention and focus belonged to the Irishman. The rest of the room- the world- was a nonsensical blur of shapes, colors and a babble of pointless sounds. All he knew was Jack’s face, the calloused hands tugging at his own and a familiar voice keeping him from the brink. The rest of the walk might as well have been white noise.

The cold, white sterility of the bathroom almost came as a shock. It startled Mark out of his stupor, but it wasn't until he heard the click of a lock that his brain fully registered his surroundings. The sound actually came close to making things worse, but Jack was too fast. Before Mark’s brain could begin processing ‘ _I'm trapped, in trapped, they locked me in again and I'm alone’_ Jack was already speaking, drawing his attention again and breaking the mental loop he'd been stuck in.

“Mark? Mark, it’s okay. We’re alone now. It’s okay. It’s just you and me here. I’m right here, okay? I love you. Do you… do you want a hug? Or just to sit down?”

Mark could trust Jack; could trust his voice. Not like all those other faces and voices he hardly knew and didn't recognize. He looked to Jack- the only bit of color in the bland little stall- and shifted towards him, then thought better of it and moved backwards instead. He'd been aiming for the toilet once he realized they were in a bathroom but his back hit the wall- he hadn't even been _looking,_ he just moved, and so Mark allowed his weary, wound tight body to slide down the cool surface of the tile to the floor. He pressed his hands against it hard. Everything around him was _hard_ and _white_ and _bright,_ almost too bright, but he didn't dare close his eyes. Mark knew who would be waiting for him in the darkness of his eyelids.

His voice still didn't want to work right, too choked up by fear and anxiety. Mark wordlessly- needily- tapped at the spot beside him on the floor, silently begging Jack to join him and hold him and convince him everything would be okay. The chill of the bathroom made breathing easier but he was still out of rhythm.

“It's okay, Mark, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe. It's okay.” Jack sat beside Mark. “I love you, Mark. I'm right here. I love you. So much. I love you, Mark. I love you. I'm right here with you. You're safe.”

_‘It's okay. It's okay. I'm safe. Jack's here. He's safe. We're both okay.’_ Mark let Jack’s words echo in his head while he worked to get his breathing back under control. He flinched a little when his hands were taken up again and squeezed, but not even close to how bad he had in the other room. He also didn't pull away, and eventually he gave a weak squeeze back. ‘ _Jack loves me. He loves me, and it's okay. Jack says it's safe. He wouldn't lie to me because he loves me._ ** _Jack loves me and it's safe.’_** In, out. In, out went Mark’s breaths for what felt like ages. He never once let go of Jack’s hands and though they appeared unfocused, his eyes remained locked onto his boyfriend’s face.

Finally, when the pounding in his head began to subside and his heartbeat slowed, Mark moved. He turned fully towards Jack and leaned in without letting go of his hands. He pressed his face into the crook of Jack’s neck and drew a deep breath. The exhale that followed hitched into a soft whine as he felt the tension in his chest dissolve into something more rough and wet.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jack, I'm s-so sorry I fucked up. I fucked up and I lost it a-and you were right. I shouldn't have come. I thought I could handle it but I couldn't and now I made everything awkward for you and your family I just… _I’m sorry,_ I love you, pl-please hold me before I come apart at the seams Jack, please.” Mark’s voice cracked and then broke alongside his metaphorical dam as the tears began to fall, instantly soaking Jack’s neck while Mark’s back began to shudder anew with soft sobs and hiccups. The attack had passed, but the damage was still present and Mark hadn't nearly recovered just yet.

Jack eased his hands free from Mark's and wrapped his arms loosely around him. He was gentle at first, but increased the pressure as Mark remained okay with the hold. “No, Mark, _no_ , you didn't fuck up. You didn't. You started to panic but you held it together long enough for me to get you out of there, and you didn't fall too deep. This was good, Mark. I know it doesn't feel good, but it _was_. It was good for both of us, to see what to do.”

He rubbed Mark's back and rested his cheek against Mark's hair, hugging him against his chest. “I love you, Mark. And I'm proud of you. And I have you. Okay? I'm here, you're here, we're both safe. Everything is going to be okay.”

Mark’s hands still ached for something to grab onto so his fingers dug deep into Jack’s overshirt until they were pressing at his ribs. He bunched up two fistfuls of the soft material and allowed his body to melt into Jack’s, pulled by warm arms and his own death grip. Like this, Mark felt safe enough to cry. Jack destroyed any remaining traces of composure he'd been clinging to and all the emotions he'd bottled up in that room came pouring out. Guilt, shame, anxiety, discomfort; all a wet, ugly mess trickling down Jack’s neck into his collar. Hopefully they could dry it out and no one would notice, except what was the point? They'd all seen Mark spiral down and watched Jack pull him out of there; they _knew._ Mark very nearly began hyperventilating again at just the thought of going back into that room to see their pity and disturbed expressions.

Jack kept saying he did _good,_ though. Mark couldn't really see it, but he always trusted Jack’s words. If he insisted it wasn't so bad, then maybe it wasn't? Maybe Mark’s brain was making it out to be worse than it actually was. He really hoped so.

In the end, all that mattered was they were both safe. No one had or was going to hurt them. They had each other, period. Bonuses included: Jack loving him, Jack being proud of him and the two of them being alone enough to hold each other like this. He sniffled wetly while he trembled and wanted desperately to kiss Jack until _neither_ of them could breathe right, but he couldn't bring himself to face the open world again just yet. Instead, Mark pressed a kiss or two against the mess he'd made of Jack’s neck. “I love you. I love you so much, Jack. I was so scared. I was so scared they'd done something to you o-or taken you I just panicked. I freaked out because you weren't there and I'd forgotten all about **_them._** I forgot how dangerous they could be and I shouldn't. I shouldn't have I don't care if it's paranoid Jack I don't e-ever want anything to happen to you. I never want you to see that damn room.”

“I'm not going to be in that room, Mark. And you're never going to be in there again.” Jack pressed a kiss to Mark's hair and adjusted his hold so he could rock Mark gently.

“Never. Never, never, _never.”_ Mark repeated himself with every press of his lips to Jack’s skin. He wouldn't let them take him again, never, not alive. He'd throw himself to the wolves if it meant preventing Jack from the same fate. He let himself be rocked back into some semblance of calm as his tears slowed. Jack had him, so everything would be okay. It _would,_ it always was. He stopped kissing Jack’s neck to just let his lips linger there instead, soaking up the warmth and feeling his boyfriend’s pulse against his mouth. _Alive. Alive, alive, alive._ “Love you too.”

“I love you,” Jack repeated. “I love you, Mark, so, so much.” He took a deep breath and tucked his head back against Mark's. “Was that what triggered you? That I left you alone?”

Then came the questions. Mark had been awaiting the inevitable but it didn't make answering them any easier. He didn't want to throw Jack’s father under the bus even though technically he _had_ been the one to drive Mark into a panic, because it was a special day for Jack’s parents. The last thing they needed was their son going after Mr. McLoughlin because Mark had been triggered. He'd never forgive himself if he created some kind of rift between Jack and his father. Voice going soft and hesitant, he curled into Jack and pressed a cheek to his shoulder. “No…. I mean, that became a big deal later, when I was already starting to panic and couldn't find you. But.. I was okay before then. With you gone. You looked like you were having a lot of fun.” He frowned. “I'm sorry….”

“Hey. It's not like you did it on purpose. And it's like I've told you before: your comfort and sense of security comes first. Always. Mark, this was your first real expedition into the wider world. First time you've had a lot of focus on you, first time you were left on your own with strangers ever since…” Jack shook his head a little. “You were safe the whole time, but it _was_ all new. It's understandable that you had an attack. If we can figure out what triggered it, though, we can work on it to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

Jack wasn't going to let it go. Well, he might, if Mark insisted or became too distraught, but that would be a step _backwards._ Both for Mark’s recovery, and their relationship. He couldn't claim to trust Jack more than anyone if he was too scared to tell him the truth.

At the absolute least, Mark knew Jack _always_ deserved to hear the truth. If he could spill the secret about the initials scarred forever into his back, then he could tell Jack about his father’s actions. He'd just need to try and be tactful about it for once in his life.

Mark was practically in Jack’s lap by the time he started speaking again. His arms were still squished up snugly between their chests and the position left him feeling the most at ease he could on the cold floor of a public bathroom stall. “...your dad. He came over while you were dancing and asked about our relationship. I was ready for that. I think I handled it really well. But then… he brought **_them_** up. Started.. a-asking me, about them. How they worked. If they.. if there was a risk they could come and take you. He kept staring at my scars as if seeing them on _you_ and it just- I freaked out. He dug up a lot of stuff I'd been burying and without you there I didn't know how to handle it. I lost count of my breathing and it was all downhill from there.” His breath hitched as if to emphasize.

“ _Jesus fuck,_ ” Jack breathed.

Mark finally wiggled his arms free to slip them around Jack and give him a tight squeeze. He tried to convey with his body language Jack shouldn't go; shouldn't attack or confront his father about what happened. “I don't think he meant to trigger me. I don't even think he knew he was making me uncomfortable until it was too late. He.. he tried to help, when he realized. I don't really remember what he said but… his face wasn't good. It was probably just an accident.”

Jack sighed and tugged at Mark, pulling him into his lap fully so Mark could settle against his shoulder in a position mirroring that first night in the rain. “I'm sorry, Mark. He shouldn't have asked you any of that. I know as much about their methods as you do. He could have asked me himself if he was so worried.”

“He's a dad. I don't know if I could have asked my kid those questions. I don't know if _my dad_ could have asked me those questions. I might've been okay to field them, if I'd just known ahead of time. He.. he really caught me off-guard.” That was the true core of the problem. Mark had been doing well because he'd prepared himself for tonight, so it made sense that what set him off had come as an unprecedented surprise. When he thought about it like that, he certainly felt like less of a failure and more a victim of circumstance.

Jack's head lolled back against the tiles. “Tell you what, how about we call a cab when you're feeling up to it, and we just head home, hmm? We've been here a few hours. I'd call that a success.”

Mark snuggled in against Jack with heavily lidded eyes. Now that he'd gotten the truth off his chest he could really relax, at least until they went back into that room. However Jack was speaking again and his offer of a retreat had Mark sitting up a little. “What? Are you sure? Jack, your whole family is still here. I doubt you all gather together like this very often. I don't want to drag you away just because I'm…” He ducked his head lower on Jack’s shoulder. because if they left after _that_ scene, everyone would know the reason why. There'd be no getting around it and Jack’s father would probably find Mark even _more_ distasteful. “What about your parents?”

“Yeah, and? I've been here for hours, it's not like they're being denied my presence. I've talked with everyone at least once and played that card game with Dylan and danced with my mum.” Jack lifted a hand to Mark's chin, tilting his face up to steal a kiss. “I've been itching to do _that_ all night. Besides, my parents don't live that far away. I can see them anytime. If you're ready to go back, we can go back. I don't want to push you too far on your first night.”

Mark melted all over again and _definitely_ could have done with a few more of those. He stole one, just because. The rest would need to wait until they got home and it served as another heaping pile of incentive for Mark to let Jack call a cab.

“I can call the cab and then say my goodbyes while we're waiting for it to arrive. It'll be okay.” Jack assured.

_‘Fuck it,’_ Mark thought, smattering more feather soft kisses down along Jack’s chin and jaw. They had a minute or two, so he was going to do what _he'd_ wanted to do all night. His fingertips dragged harshly down Jack’s back as he pulled away to stare into blue eyes. It felt like they stole his heart all over again every time. “I.. okay. If you're all right with it. Chica’s probably feeling lonely anyway.” Mark's hands skimmed back up to hook over the back of Jack’s shoulders and his expression gained a serious undertone. “But I want to say goodbye with you. At least your parents and Dylan. And your sister. I'm still grateful for that ride she gave us months ago.” He'd never stop, probably, and there was no way in Hell he'd just duck out with his tail between his legs- _bad analogy, bad analogy._

_“_ Okay.” Jack chuckled a bit. “Don't be ready for another minute or so, okay?”

“What-” Mark’s question was cut-off and simultaneously answered by yet another kiss. Any protests or confusion he had seeped away along with the tension in his muscles as Jack reclaimed his mouth. He felt like a gooey puddle in Jack’s lap; warm and pliant as he was, to put it bluntly, kissed _stupid._ (Some might say stupid _er._ ) Jack mostly supported him and stopped him from just plain flopping over in contentment. His own arms were strung uselessly around his boyfriend’s neck and shoulders while one of his thumbs happily scraped along the baby hairs at the very back of Jack’s neck. Mark hummed his approval into Jack’s mouth as their tongues met; slow and lazy.

When they did break apart, Jack brushed some of Mark's dark floof out of his eyes and smiled. “Ready? Or want to stay in here a bit longer?”

Mark’s lips felt tingly and swollen in the best possible way. Jack’s didn't look much better. Maybe no one would notice?

He was short on breath but in a good way this time and he returned Jack’s smile with his eyes as he brought one of his hands around. “Just a minute.” The words were a murmur from his chest while he gently stroked the backs of his fingers down along the curve of Jack’s face. There was nothing but adoring affection in Mark’s brown eyes before he leaned in to kiss his boyfriend again. His head slightly tilted and he breathed deep through his nose as he kept the kiss just as slow and sensual as before, tongue leisurely lapping it's way into Jack’s mouth where it was more than happy to settle in again. The hand at Jack's front had dropped to spread Mark’s palm against a narrow chest. The other continued lingering around Jack’s shoulders; stroking thumb escalating to a tangle of slightly crooked fingers in short, brown locks. ‘ _I love you.’_

Jack murmured happily into the kiss as Mark's fingers found his hair, and he kneaded softly at Mark's back. “I'm calling a cab,” he mumbled when they pulled apart. “We'll continue this at home?”

“Please.” It was the only response Mark could muster while he tried to settle back down again. Admittedly, their kissing had worked him up a bit more than he anticipated and now he was very eager to get home. However, they’d need to wait for the cab, and Mark was still determined to depart from the McLoughlin party on good terms with Jack’s family. Thankfully neither of them had gotten _too_ dangerously excited. Not about to take the risk, Mark grudgingly wiggled himself out of Jack’s lap. He stood with a healthy amount of support from the wall and drew in a deep breath. Quietly, Mark extended a hand to his boyfriend. “Let’s go say bye. Before they send in a search party.” His humor was back. That was always a good sign.

Jack grinned and got to his feet as well. “Glad you’re back, Mark.”

After calling for a cab to pick them up, Jack led Mark on the family rounds. His siblings all gave Jack tight hugs and wished Mark well or shook his hand but none of them went for a hug with Mark, not even the sister who had given them a ride back from the hospital. She beamed at the pair, nodded pointedly at their joined hands, and asked, “Still not boyfriends?”

“Shuddup,” Jack grumbled. She merely laughed and assured Mark it was a pleasure to see him again, and to see how far he’d come since their last meeting.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Jack’s parents. His mother squeezed him tight and then turned to Mark. “You too, love?” she asked, offering a hug this time instead of simply pressing it upon him like she had earlier.

Jack’s father stood beside her, looking somewhat cowed.

Mark looked at Jack’s mother and hesitated. He was feeling a lot better now after his break with Jack in the bathroom and the simple, comfortable goodbyes they’d been sharing with Jack’s family. Unlike he’d feared, no one stared at him when they returned to the room and no one brought up his panic attack. It served as an immense relief and confidence boost. It was also the reason his shoulders eventually sagged as he caved to the welcoming arms of Mrs. McLoughlin. Mark hugged the woman properly this time, just for a few seconds, before pulling away again. “Thank you for letting me come along with Jack to your party. I hope you enjoy the rest of your anniversary. And, I’m sorry. About the…” He bit at the inside of his cheek and awkwardly looked off to the side.

Jack’s mother was absolutely beaming, puffed up with pride like she’d just won some sort of mythical jackpot. She patted Mark’s shoulder, tsking slightly. “Oh come now, that’s me oaf of a husband’s fault, and you know it. What do you have to say for yourself, love?” She looked pointedly at the man beside her.

“I don’t need yer prompting, Florrie,” Jack’s father retorted. He took a step toward Mark, hesitated, and then held out his hand. “I’m sorry, Mark. I didn’t think about how… _that topic_ would affect you before I started asking my questions. I know Jack’s gonna chew me out later himself, so I figured I’d get my apologies in while I still have an arse.”

Jack looked over at Mark and well, it wasn’t the _best_ apology Mark had ever received. He hadn’t been expecting much better from the gruff, stiff-backed man who was Mr. McLoughlin. Personally, he was quite happy to have received one at all. He’d been fully prepared to go home without hearing another word from the man, so Mark would take what he could get if it meant staying on good terms with the father of his boyfriend.

After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted the offered hand and gave it as firm a shake as he could muster. Mark had lost a grip on the strength he showed earlier but the friendliness was still there. “Apology accepted. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. Trust me, I worry about him too. I promise I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble while I’m still here with him. And I already asked him personally to spare your butt. The rest is up for grabs, though.” His gentle smile quirked up with a bit of humor.

This time, Mr. McLoughlin’s half of the handshake was almost friendly. Jack’s mother smiled at her husband, then at them. “I’m glad to have finally met ye, Mark. Ye’ve been an important part of my Jackaboy’s life for a long time. It’s been years I’ve been hearing yer name, and there’s a difference between watching a video and meeting the man. Ye two have a good night. We look forward to seeing ye again!”

“Hope I get to see you both one more time before I head back to the States. Have a good night!” Mark retreated fully to Jack’s side and turned to shoot his boyfriend a smile. That had gone far, far better than either of them could have hoped. Now there was only one more face to bid goodbye before they went out to meet their cab; one Mark had personally been looking forward to yet simultaneously dreading.

Jack squeezed Mark’s hand and nodded to his father. His dad looked at their joined hands and then up at Jack… and then gave a little sigh and a tiny smile, his own arm wrapping around his wife’s shoulders. Mark could feel the tension drain from Jack and was relieved.

“Okay, so, I can’t leave without saying goodbye to Dylan…” Dylan would be the last, but also the hardest to find, because he was so short. Luckily, they found him near the desserts.

“Uncle Jack! Markiplier! Are you guys leaving?” Dylan hopped to his feet, abandoning his cake to give Jack a tight hug.

“Yeah, Markiplier’s an old man. Gotta put him to bed.”

“Just like Dad?”

“Just like your dad. Just like Uncle Jack too.” Jack ruffled Dylan’s hair. “We’re not young like you anymore. We get tired!”

“You should have more cake,” Dylan declared, as if cake could solve everything.

“But if we eat all the cake then there won’t be any left for you.” Mark pointed out as he crouched down again. He just felt better chatting with children on their level. “You want another hug from me too?” He was doing his best to keep his voice easy and even for Dylan. The boy had probably witnessed his attack and subsequent retreat. Mark hoped it hadn’t shaken him too badly.

“Yeeeeees!” Dylan pulled away from Jack to catapult against Mark’s chest. In his giddiness, his words yet again proceeded to become gibberish to Mark’s poor, American ears.

“Uh…” Jack glanced down at Mark. “Probably not, Dyllers. When he’s feeling better, he’s gonna go back home to America.”

Mark almost fell onto his butt from the force but managed to get his arms snugly around the hyper little French boy. Someone _else_ should _cut down_ on the cake. ‘ _McLoughlins. Oy.’_ Still, Dylan seemed to be faring well. Maybe he hadn’t seen anything at all. Mark was hardly about to say anything and instead readily focused on the topic that had cropped up as Dylan giggled. Which was… was it about Mark? Something about a dog? He internally winced. Adorable as Dylan was, his English was… basically what Frankenstein would sound like as a language. The French and Irish just did not mix well at all and he sent Jack a hopeless glance. “Dogs are… good. I bet Chica would love you.”

“Maybe you can come visit Mark and Chica in L.A. sometime,” Jack suggested, giving Mark a little shake of his head. “We can both go! It’ll be awesome… if your mum says we can.”

“I’ll ask! I will I will I will!” Dylan squeezed Mark again before letting him go. “Good night, Uncle Jack, Markiplier! It was so awesome to hang out with you tonight!”

“If she says yes, we’d both love to have you.” Mark returned the squeeze and then rose to his feet. He felt lighter than he had all night as he reclaimed Jack’s hand and let Dylan’s contagious smile infect his own face. “Good night, Dylan. Hope to see you again real soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	76. 8/19: After Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark does a little experimenting.

It was dark by the time Mark and Jack left the restaurant to climb into their cab, and they could easily hold hands in the backseat with their fingers interlaced, their faces striped with light from the streetlamps on the drive back. Mark kept looking at Jack, drinking in his boyfriend’s profile in the dark, the glitter of his eyes, the way Jack would look back at him…

The ride took far too long. By the time they arrived at the cottage, Jack was squeezing impatiently at Mark’s fingers. Separating to get out of the cab was torturous. Jack lingered to pay the driver while Mark went inside to let Chica out one last time.

The moment Mark entered their cozy little cottage, he felt a peace settle over him he’d been lacking at the party. It was a sense of security and comfort one could only get from their home. For Mark, it was even more effective. The fact he could get such a sensation from a home he’d made with _Jack_ gave him a feeling of awe and a rush of warmth. Chica was a welcome sight as well. She practically bowled him over when he opened up her crate and it took some serious effort to wrangle her into the backyard. Rather than follow her out as he sometimes did, Mark lingered in the doorway. The chilly night air felt amazing on his skin. Normally, he preferred nights with clear skies and a full moon, but there was still something incredibly serene about the dark cloud blanket currently cast over their little chunk of the world. Here, in this place, Mark could breathe.

However, he knew a certain Irishman was near to crawling out of his own skin just to be all over him again and Mark could hardly say he felt any different. While Chica did her business, he shucked off some of his extraneous layers. Vest, tie, shoes and belt were all placed neatly aside. He pre-emptively popped a few buttons on his white collar with the hope Jack would spare the rest and it was about that time he heard the telltale sound of a car driving off. He quickly ushered Chica back into her crate with a few loving kisses in apology for not playing with her more first.

Mark thought he’d try to be romantic- or cheesy, or _both._ He’d intended to dash back to the couch and lay out for his boyfriend to find when he walked in through the door. That would have been the ideal result of his short sprint. Instead, his foot caught on a leg of the coffee table just as he was about to jump onto the couch and Jack would get an eyeful of his gorgeous partner crashing face-first across the furniture with a yelp. _“Fuck!!”_

“Uh… Mark? You okay there, love?”

Mark groaned into the arm of the couch where his face had come to rest. Well, even if his plan failed miserably, at least he got to hear Jack’s suddenly spine-tingling, thickened Irish accent as a consolation prize. Being around family all night must have had a multiplier effect. “Yeah…. Only thing really hurt is my pride. And my ego. And maybe my face, just a little, I guess. Couchburn.” He grunted and shoved his hands into a cushion to peel his face from the upholstery. His glasses were barely clinging to his ears as he turned to shoot Jack a pout. “I was _trying_ to be sexy for you.”

Jack grinned, leaning over the arm of the couch to press a kiss to Mark’s nose. “Aww, I’m sorry. Need me to kiss you better?” His eyes dipped down and back up again. “I hope you say yes, cause I’m probably just gonna kiss you _anyway_.”

Mark’s brown eyes skipped down for a beat as well before shooting back up to Jack accompanied by a cheeky grin. “Like I said: _trying to be sexy for you._ And save my shirt buttons. Now where’s my boo-boo kisses?” It was horribly unsexy. Just about the _least lust inducing_ thing Mark could possibly say in that moment but, well, he just wouldn’t be Mark otherwise. He playfully wiggled his nose and then puckered up expectantly at his boyfriend.

Jack burst out laughing, reaching up to cup Mark’s cheeks. “God, if you didn’t have the world’s sexiest voice, this would be a _lot_ harder. Or not hard enough.”

The sound set Mark to grinning boisterously and he waggled his eyebrows for Jack’s innuendo. “I could fix that.” The words came out a little mushed due to his puckered lips.

Jack gave Mark a fish-face pucker and pushed their lips together in an exaggerated mockery of a kiss before shifting his angle and coaxing Mark into a proper kiss over the couch arm. “You are being very sexy right now. And very stupid. But you make it work.”

Mark giggled as he gripped at the arm of the couch and pulled himself closer. “Aha, so my ingenious plan was a success! This was my secret ploy all along and you fell right into my sexy trap of sexitude, JackSepticEye. Now suffer the consequences of my stupid sexy technique!” It had to be some kind of record for a person to use the word “sex” so many times and _still_ fail to _sound sexy._ Thankfully, the deep and excited kiss he planted on Jack’s Irish mouth more than made up for it.

Jack laughed into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Mark, tugging him close, the arm of the couch acting as a chaperone while they were in front of Chica’s big eyes. He moaned softly beneath the onslaught of Mark’s kiss, melting in place, his eyes falling closed.

Mark hummed a response to the moan and kept Jack close with his mouth. Their lips separated several times only to come back together again as if they were opposing magnets. Digging his forearm into the couch, Mark reached up to cup tenderly at the side of Jack’s face. His fingertips rubbed encouragingly at the scruff of brown there while he traced at Jack’s lips with his tongue. Unlike Jack, Mark still felt better about keeping his eyes open but with his glasses hanging on by a thread much of his vision was blurred. Thankfully, he knew his boyfriend’s face (and most of his body) by touch.

When Jack finally pulled back, he kept his eyes closed, a stupid little smile tugging at his lips. “Mark? It’s late. I think we should turn off the lights and go to the bedroom, because there’s no way in hell I’m gonna want to do anything else by the time I’m done kissing you tonight…”

Even blurred, that sight was one of the best Mark had ever seen and he did his best to tuck it away in his memory. “...yeah, y’know, I was about to say if we stay in this position for much longer I’m gonna kill my back. It’s already twinging.” Maybe he really _was_ an old man, or maybe sitting like a damn sea lion to smooch his boyfriend just wasn’t healthy for his spine. Mark let his fingertips shift and slide down the side of Jack’s face as if it were some grand treasure he’d found. “Gimme back my beautiful face and we’ll relocate? I know it might be hard but we can do it together, Jack. I believe in you.”

Jack grunted, exaggerating the effort he needed to peel his fingers away from Mark’s face. He let his arms drop to his sides, panting slightly with the “exertion” and opened his eyes.

“Congration. You done it.” Mark praised and gave Jack’s cheek a congratulatory little pat. Still beaming, he nodded and scrambled awkwardly back onto his feet. He took a moment to stretch out his back with a slight grimace. “Yeah. Okay. Never doing that position again.”

“You get the lights,” Jack suggested. “I’ll arm the system.”

Rubbing lightly at the middle of his spine where the strain had been, Mark trailed off to perform his task. The night lights Jack had purchased switched on automatically and he smiled; it was the little touches. He followed the path lit by calming blue into what used to be Jack’s bedroom. Now it was theirs, and it _felt_ like it. Moving forward while popping a few more buttons, he abruptly paused. Suddenly, Mark found himself with a conundrum. Should he remain dressed so they could have fun removing each others’ clothes? It would risk getting his nice formal wear dirty, or worse. Yet…

“ _‘Gonna look sexy for Jack:’_ attempt number two.”

When Jack came into the bedroom, he stopped abruptly just inside the door, his eyes going wide. Mark was stretched out on the bed, clad in about half of his formal wear. He had propped himself up on his arms and was smirking at the door, at _Jack_. The position he was in let his half-unbuttoned shirt gape open, revealing a golden expanse of toned chest, and while his legs weren’t spread open, the stretch of his slacks across his groin revealed more than a little interest.

Jack stared and _stared_. He croaked a little, clearing his throat to mutter a thoroughly enraptured “ _Fuck…!_ ”

“Well, no, probably not tonight. But _eventually._ ” Mark’s smirk morphed into something more like a cocky grin. _Bingo._ Victory was his. Especially if the swell in Jack’s pants had anything to say about it. Mark switched on his very best smolder and proceeded to attempt a “come hither” gesture just for kicks. He nearly flopped over in the process, but the thought was there. “Oh Jack, I’m so _busy_ being stupidly sexy that I think I might need some help with these buttons. Wanna help a bro out?” Oh, how Felix would react if he knew Mark was using his brospeak for gay come-ons with his little Irish potato.

Jack remained frozen for a full beat longer after Mark’s invitation, but then he was moving, crossing the room to pounce on Mark on the bed, climbing over a leg and pressing their mouths together. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed against Mark’s lips, “fuck, Mark, this has to be illegal, you’re not allowed to be so damn _hot_ …”

Mark ended up giggling against Jack’s mouth as they broke the kiss. That had been an incredible rush of adrenaline coupled with the most subtle hints of unnecessary fear. When their mouths met, the latter was swiftly chased away and Mark found his hands migrating naturally to Jack’s hips. He squeezed there while he scattered lighter kisses around Jack’s face. “That’s..” Another kiss for his mouth, brief and sweet. “..my line…”

“No, your line is ‘I’ll never let go, Jack!’”

“I swear, if you say _one word_ about goats….” Mark probably wouldn’t do anything, just kiss Jack some more. It remained a necessary threat to make; on principal!

Jack snickered against Mark’s cheek, nuzzling his face. “Can I take this off?” His fingers found the first button not undone, and he fidgeted with the cotton, lifting his eyes to Mark’s. “Please, _please_ , can I pull this off you? I wanna see you…”

Mark hummed, breath skittering along Jack’s stubble as he felt the familiar callouses cascade down his chest. Mark knew, in that moment, he wanted the shirt off. His brain served as the only hiccup. _Danger,_ it told him, _you’ll be more vulnerable. You could get hurt._ Mark shook off the alarm bells and met pleading blue eyes with a smile. “Well, I _did_ ask you for help with the buttons…. Taking the shirt off’s just the next step, right?” He let his fingers dip beneath the hem of Jack’s two layers to emphasize, rubbing circles into pale skin with his thumbs.

Jack smiled back, leaning in to kiss Mark, but then he sat back over Mark’s knee. “If you need me to do anything differently,” he told Mark, reminding him of what Mark knew by heart by now, “just let me know.” He pushed the button through its hole, spreading the fabric further and exposing that much more of Mark’s chest. His fingers dipped beneath the shirt to touch the bared skin, rubbing gently, finding a scar, before he moved to the next button now. The tip of Jack’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he focused his attention on slowly stripping Mark’s shirt off.

Mark let his hands linger on Jack’s hips even after the other sat back, though he was unable to continue his own explorations due to the angle. It was disappointing, but the hands on _his_ chest kept him more than entertained. “What I need you to do differently is be in _way_ less clothes.” It would have to wait because Jack was diligently relieving Mark of his own shirt at a pace that could only be compared to a snail’s crawl. Between the fingers brushing against his scars and the absolutely devout look of concentration on his adorable boyfriend’s face, Mark was rapidly losing his patience with Jack’s idea of foreplay. “I can’t tell if this makes you a sadist or a masochist but I’m gonna have grey hair by the time you pull my shirt out of my pants, Jack.”

“You said I could,” Jack retorted, glancing up briefly at Mark’s eyes before returning to his work.

“I did say you could.” Mark relented in a groan. Next time he was going to give a speed requirement, or a time limit.

“I am unwrapping you like my present, because you deserve for me to take my time. Also, it’s fun. But I could take my shirt off for you if you want your idea of eye candy to indulge in…”

Besides the light anxiety of having his skin and scars exposed, Mark’s sole source of distress was his own impatient arousal. He was seconds away from throwing one of his toughest pouts at Jack in a childish effort to speed things up. Instead, he gave a soft snort of disbelief. “‘My idea of eye candy’. You’re too damn humble, Jack. You can’t sit there and tell me people don’t go gaga over your body the same way they do mine. I know you keep up with social media.” Mark’s muscles quivered beneath Jack’s touch and he did a bit of a crunch with a grunt just so he could ruck up Jack’s shirts a few inches. The move made his abs all the more defined. “I _want_ to see you.”

Jack giggled, poking his finger teasingly into Mark’s belly button before drawing his hands back and Mark yipped out an indignant, “Hey!” He was prepared to swipe playfully at Jack, but then Jack was catching Mark’s fingers with his own and drawing them up, letting Mark’s hands slide his shirt up another couple of inches. He could feel the moisture disappearing from his mouth.

Jack released Mark’s hands and pulled his shirt up and off… slowly. “Better?”

“Hnn…” came the quiet little noise as Mark watched the sensual strip tease. He had initially flopped back when released, but now he forced himself up again to grip at Jack’s ribs like a dying man. “You’re not close enough.”

“If I get any closer, I can’t watch as I unwrap you,” Jack pointed out. He leaned in to peck a kiss over Mark’s lips, but then returned to his slow undoing of Mark’s buttons. This time, he slid his hands into Mark’s shirt and up his chest, humming as he felt those strengthening muscles and solid pecs. “Mark, seriously, your body is unfair.”

Mark did his damned best to chase Jack’s lips down for another kiss but could only rise so far before falling back with a displeased grunt. His pout returned full force when Jack’s pace didn’t increase even the slightest. The hands feeling up his chest served as little consolation for the agony of Jack’s prolonged teasing. Shivering, Mark dragged fingernails down Jack’s clothed thighs. “And yours is still out of reach. I’d say that’s what’s _really_ unfair, Jack. So cruel to your boyfriend. To your bf. I’m dying of thirst down here.”

Jack tweaked Mark’s nipples before his hands retreated. He tugged Mark’s shirt free from his pants and reached for another button. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before leaving half of these done up for me!”

 _“Fffff-”_ Mark jolted and very nearly let loose a loud whine from the sneak attack. His hands at last retreated from Jack to slap over his nipples in a defensive maneuver. His cheeks had gone pink but the “indignant” expression he wore was sold out by the fact his pants had gotten slightly tighter- traitorous clothing. “ _Fuckdammit,_ Jack! I repeal my earlier question! I’ve got the answer. You’re a sadist. You’re _enjoying_ this I cannot believe I’m in love with _such a_ ** _little shit._** I thought I’d have to worry about you _ripping_ my clothes off; not this. I’m gonna die. R.I.P. Markiplier. Cause of death: sexual neglect on behalf of his boyfriend.” He huffed. “Jack. If you don’t start touching me, or let _me_ touch _you,_ then I’m gonna be forced to take some drastic measures here.”

Jack’s giggle definitely had an evil undertone as he popped another button free. “Mark, Mark, Mark, you _knew_ I was a little shit when you first kissed me. Don’t go acting like this was a complete surprise!” That was the last button, though, and Jack was able to push Mark’s shirt open.

“Complete surprise? More like a terrible reminder!” Mark could have _cried_ when at last Jack completed his task and fully exposed his chest. He let his hands slide free of his pecs with the anticipation of his boyfriend descending with a fervor upon him and waited.

“Mm. You’re gorgeous. I could just sit here and look at you _all night._ ” There was a mischievous twinkle in Jack’s eye.

Mark waited and _Jack didn’t touch him._ A whine bubbled up at the back of his throat. “Jaaaack!” He could _see_ how hard Jack was and yet the Irishman continued to deny them both. Mark was practically going cross-eyed in his desperation for some kind of physical contact.

Well, no more. He’d warned Jack. Now it was time for his boyfriend to pay the piper. “Why just look, when you can _touch?_ ” Without any warning, Mark heaved himself up to meet Jack at eye level. He could see the same lust he felt shining in blue eyes and it motivated him. Mark was reassured he wasn’t jumping the gun as he renewed a powerful grip on Jack’s hips. His voice had become husky when he next spoke. “Jack. Jack, love of my life, evil little leprechaun, master baiter-” Ha, double innuendo. Nice. “-I want you to get up and take off your pants. Before I flip you upside-down and tickle you until you pass out.” He dropped his voice into the deepest octave he could manage but his words became no less childish. “I’m talking raspberries, Jack. With this mouth. All over your stomach. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I did say you could have your eye candy,” Jack said. He gave a little wiggle over Mark's leg and slid his hands down his own chest to toy with the button of his jeans before popping it open. He slid the zipper down and gave a sigh as his dick pushed through the fly of his jeans, covered only by thin underwear.

“You're still going too slow~” Mark sang even as he watched Jack. Thankfully, his own dress slacks were looser than jeans so he could tolerate them just a little bit longer. He swiped his hands up and down Jack’s exposed sides before giving them a light squeeze. “You gotta stand up if you're gonna get’em off.” ‘ _And get off,’_ he tacked on humorously in his head.

Having lost all his patience to Jack’s earlier teasing, Mark’s grip slid down to a narrow waist. “Hup!” With a soft grunt and a flex that could be seen in _all_ of his muscles, Mark heaved Jack up off the bed. Originally, he was just going to set the Irishman back on his feet to avoid waiting an eternity for Jack to move. However, as he slid them both over the edge of the bed, his brain had a lightbulb moment and it was his turn to look devious as his hands slid further down to cup Jack’s ass through his loosened jeans. “Just gonna say sorry in advance if I fail epically at this but hold on Jackaboy _herewego!!!_ ” Mark stood, let Jack’s feet just tap the ground so he could secure his hold and then he was lifting Jack back up by his ass. He stumbled forward a bit awkwardly to press his boyfriend into the nearest wall, Jack’s crotch pressed directly against his pelvis and Mark let loose a little moan of appreciation for the pressure. His biceps were bulging while he shared supporting Jack with the wall but he grinned. ‘ _Sweet success.’_

Jack had provided a very unmanly squeal in response to being picked up. He wrapped his legs around Mark’s waist, his arms latching onto Mark’s shoulders, eyes incredibly wide. “ _Mark!_ ”

Mark fixed Jack with his best smolder through dark bangs and dropped his voice back into the register that could easily make his boyfriend cream his pants. “Now I'm gonna show you the _proper_ speed to use when appreciating your lover’s fantastic body.”

Jack moaned and Mark simpered out a whimper of his own as Jack wiggled against him. The movements weren't making it easier on the strain in his pants. “Jack…” Was Jack trying to get comfortable? Or was he doing it on purpose?

Jack _groaned_ , squeezing his eyes shut. “ _Mark…_ ” he whispered.

Mark supposed his internal questions didn't matter. The light grinding felt good either way and Jack was _still_ further along than himself in the erection department; that was good. Mark wanted to make his boyfriend lose it first for once. He wanted to fully appreciate the expression on Jack’s face when he achieved orgasm, to know it was _him_ that put it there. He could feel something wet bumping against his stomach and a quick glance told him all he needed to know. Mark, head thick with lust and arousal and all the things he wanted to do to Jack in that moment, shoved any anxieties away. _He_ was on top, _he_ was in control. Jack couldn't hurt him like this, couldn't take advantage of him. It felt… empowering. Why hadn't Mark tried this before?

Jack was beautiful before him. All flushed skin and wanton expression; his bushy brows scrunched up from just how turned on he was. Mark’s name was whispered in that thick accent and he shivered. “I wish you believed me about how gorgeous _you_ are, Jack. I wish you could see what I see. Feel what I..” He squeezed Jack’s ass and leaned in to kiss at his neck. “..feel.”

There was a pause spotted with heavy breaths. “...is this okay? Are you okay?”

“Oh god _yes_!” Jack opened his eyes and looked at Mark, his face still burning. “Mark, _yes_ , this is okay, I'm okay, yes…” He dusted kisses across Mark's cheeks and lips, breathing heavily against the wall. “Mark, I...I...Mark…”

Mark could feel his heart pound near to bursting in his chest from the enthusiastic response. Jack _liked_ it, he did. Mark’s hesitant expression turned radiant and giddy because _he'd done something to make Jack really happy._ He met Jack’s fleeting lips whenever possible and giggled softly. “I love you too. I'm so glad this is okay.”

“I love you, _so fucking much_ …”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he leaned in to kiss Mark properly, deeply. “Are _you_ okay?” he asked. “Mark, are you...what _can't_ I do right now?” He lifted a hand to Mark's chin, trailing fingers up his beard and stopping where sideburns became proper hair.

It didn't matter if Jack was leading the kisses. _Mark_ was still the one in control. He had all the power. He could decide at any point to put Jack down and pull away. It was exhilarating, it was thrilling, it was... just a smidgen overwhelming, but every clash of their lips steadied his head. Mark licked eagerly at Jack’s; brown eyes flicking about to take in as much of his shirtless boyfriend as possible. He swallowed hard at the pressure still throbbing against his pelvis. It was odd: Mark had never been in this position. It was always _his_ back pressed against the wall. Always hands groping _his_ ass and just the thought of being there again almost made him sick, but this time it wasn't him. It was Jack, and Jack _loved_ it. Mark tried to think as he felt fingers draw dangerously close to his hair. He glanced about with heavy breaths before looking back to blue eyes.

“...you need to.. to stay. In your pants. Or underwear, at least. I'm sorry. I should.. I don't know, don't worry about mine just yet. Uh. Uh.. you can grind. _Carefully._ Not.. not too much at once. And.. you can touch me up here. My body. You can kiss me up here too. You can still mess with my nipples and…” A flush crawled into Mark’s cheeks as his eyes slipped away. “...you can try touching my hair. _Gently._ Just- slow. And careful. Talk to me. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jack leaned in for another kiss, lips glancing off Mark's. “ _Okay_. Fuck, Mark, how are you so strong? This shouldn't be legal!” His fingers creeped up, carding gently through Mark's hair. “This is way too fucking hot. I'm not supposed to be getting _turned on_ by getting _picked up!_ ” Jack leaned over to whisper, “ _But I am…_ ”

Mark giggled at Jack’s awe. He chased after those lips again but mimicked his boyfriend, only just brushing mouths for a moment. He _needed_ to hear Jack’s voice to associate the fingers curling through his hair with Jack and Jack alone. “I'm not even back to full strength yet. Give me another month or two and I won't need the wall.” He focused on preening and the gentle tickle at his scalp. He tried not to think about exactly where it was coming from. Jack wasn't _petting_ him, he wasn't. This was different. It _was._ Mark took several deep breaths and let himself be sucked into those gleaming blue eyes he loved so much.

There were fingers curling behind his ear and **_they_** never did that; never cradled his head as they leaned in to whisper so sweetly. It was always grab, and tug, and more of a hiss than anything that would scrape at his bones and make him shudder but Jack’s accent was thick after a night spent with family and it coiled into his head until he was left shivering in a _good_ way. Mark kissed Jack’s cheek and nuzzled along his ear. “G-guess I'll just have to pick you up more often then, huh? Always happy to help my man discover new things about himself. Wonder if I could manage holding you with one hand….”

Jack moaned again, shivering against the wall. “Mark, you have _no idea_ what I'm discovering about myself right now.” He flexed his thighs, pulling Mark tighter against him, not really thrusting but grinding against his body. “I'm discovering that in addition to your voice, I have a thing for your arms. And your dick. Your dick against my ass.” Jack's face was on fire, but he continued anyway, “Your dick _in_ my ass. Mark, I'm seriously wanting...I want...I want _you…_ ”

Mark made a soft little hiss as Jack’s movement triggered a light burn of friction over the bulge in his pants. He watched, a bit fascinated, as the red color flared across Jack’s skin and followed his impulse to chase the blush with his lips. It trickled into his own cheeks as if contagious when really, it was just because of Jack’s confession. Mark could feel the heat in his ears by the time Jack started begging and the danger of hands in his hair was forgotten. In its place resided Jack: hot, half-naked, so hard he was leaking a significant wet spot in his underwear and subtly rolling his ass down onto Mark’s dick like it was natural. Like Jack had been _born_ to take Mark’s dick up his ass. The thought made him snort quietly just beneath Jack’s ear. His brain always got too overzealous whenever it desperately sought out a distraction.

However, the fact stood that Jack actively wanted Mark to _fuck him_ and it stunned the American a little. Of course he figured Jack would be accommodating towards his trauma. Yet, he never thought his boyfriend would so eagerly volunteer to go “for a ride”. Mark wished he knew why it seemed so damn _hot._

Unfortunately, they wouldn't be exploring Jack’s newfound interests tonight. Mark silenced his boyfriend with a tender kiss and licked at his open mouth on the retreat. “Shh. I'm sorry, Jack. I can't give you what you want. Not yet.” He kissed the corner of Jack’s lips. “But you can still enjoy my arms.” Mark flexed; squeezing Jack’s ass and lifting him up a bit higher. “And my voice….” Another rumble vibrated against Jack’s pulse as Mark latched onto his neck. He lavished the spot and applied some suction with a content hum.

“I don't…” Jack shook his head, flustered. “I'm okay, I'm okay with not… Mark, nngh...keep doing that and I can't, I can't keep talking…”

“I know. I know you are, Jack, it's okay.” How ironic that Mark would be the one murmuring reassurances into Jack’s skin. The Irishman was unraveling a lot faster than him, though- startlingly fast. It was like some _jack_ pot (ha) of kinks had been hit and Mark was winning all the house money. If house money came in the form of Jack’s moans and the fact he seemed liable to bust a nut in his underwear at any given second. Mark decided he'd take his version over the real stuff any day. “It's okay. It's okay, just make noise for me. Say my name. Tell me how much you love me, Jack, I'll take _anything_ in your voice. Just remind me that you're here. That it's you, and not...”

Mark mentally shook himself down and fervently suckled another hickey into Jack’s neck. His hips were giving minute gyrations of their own but it was always a bit risky because it put Mark’s grip in jeopardy. He had Jack pressed so hard against the wall they just might rub a hole straight through it.

Jack rocked his hips against Mark, then back into Mark’s hands. He rubbed his fingers against Mark's scalp, pushing through his hair and panting harshly. “Y-you are _definitely_ succeeding at being sexy tonight…”

Mark panted; purring into Jack’s neck at the light scalp massage. Because of **_them_** , he'd forgotten just how much he used to _enjoy_ hands running through his hair. Jack was reawakening that old pleasure as Mark shivered and stubbornly kept any misconceptions his paranoia might conjure up at bay. “Glad to hear my boyfriend approves. See? I can be sexy on purpose. And not just with my voice!” Mark gave a little sigh and laved a warm, wet stripe along Jack’s throat with his tongue. “ _Mnnn…_ if you can't talk, then… c-could you touch me some more? Other places? I can try to… to return the favor….” He started adjusting his grip on Jack’s ass, planning to attempt going one-handed.

“Don't...Don't you drop me,” Jack warned Mark. He freed his other hand from Mark's shoulder and dragged it down.

“If I do, you can tease me all night. Swear on Chica.” Mark left “tease” vague on purpose. It could be verbal, or it could be something a little more physical. He shivered again as he felt that familiar hand slide down his exposed chest but kept his grip on Jack strong. With his white dress shirt hanging open off his shoulders, Mark looked like some model straight out of a cologne commercial; and he was all Jack’s.

Jack rolled one of Mark’s dark nipples between his fingers as he massaged Mark's scalp with the other hand. “Mark, Mark, I love you. I don't need...I don't _even_ need you to touch me, not with your hands, not if you're holding me like this and kissing me like tha-a-at…!” Jack's voice stuttered and cracked as Mark's grip adjusted, accompanied by another twitch of his hips and a heady moan. “Fuck, Mark, Mark, love, I love you, _I love you…_!”

Between the fingers rubbing soothing circles into his scalp and the ones tweaking playfully at his nipple Mark found himself torn. The two sensations, while equally gentle, produced _very_ different emotions. In the end, it was easiest just to keep his face buried against the heat of Jack’s neck. He didn't pull away from the fingers in his hair, but he did press his chest harder against Jack’s hand. Mark could _feel_ how Jack shifted and wiggled against him and he met those movements with a newfound gusto. Experimentally, he bucked his hips upward; giving the Irishman a little bounce. He kept his hands where they were for now. “Keep going, Jack, k-keep going. Get as loud as you want it doesn't matter. Only I'm gonna hear you and I wanna hear _all_ of you. Everything. Tell me what you want, Jack. Tell me what I can do. I…” He stopped to breathe a deep groan against Jack’s throat, abdominal muscles twitching.

Jack's head knocked back against the wall with a cry of Mark’s name. He pinched at Mark’s nipple and then soothed it with his fingers. “Th-that, Mark, that’s good, that’s, fuck me, that’s _amazing_ , please, _please_... a-and…” Jack gave a gentle push to Mark’s head, then tried to arch his back instead.

 _“Jackfuck!!”_ The pinch significantly caught Mark off-guard and triggered a cry that was slightly higher pitched than the tone he'd been using all night. He could _feel_ his dick jump. Yet if it wasn't for the fact he had practically buried himself in his boyfriend, he might have lost his roll. Pinches were risky but Mark took a deep breath of just _Jack_ and squeezed his hands and attuned his ears directly to Jack’s voice. _Jack, Jack, Jack._ It was Jack’s hands soothing apologetically at his nipple and doing their best not to physically manipulate his head. Mark felt the push, but he resisted, and his fear dissipated when he received no backlash. He rewarded Jack with another prolonged lick coupled with a nibble.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack panted, petting Mark’s nipple before circling his fingers around it again.

“It's okay. I liked it- just.. yeah.” Liking it unfortunately had _nothing_ to do with whether it would set Mark off or not. He shook himself a bit more physically but then went right back to ravaging his boyfriend against the wall. It was the only way to turn the bad thoughts around. He _had_ to make this a good experience, for his own recovery.

“My… can you… Your mouth… further down?”

“You want… n-not _that low,_ right? Just a little lower?” Mark felt stupid for asking because of course Jack wouldn't beg him to go so far, not now. However, slightly more aggressive actions as Jack lost himself to pleasure led to him parsing any requests with trepidation. Just in case- no, not in case. Just a reassurance. Just to hear exactly _what_ Jack wanted so he could tell his fears to shut up. He did trail a bit lower while he waited for some kind of answer, pressing little kisses and dragging his teeth along the way.

“Yeah, no, yeah, just… just, _ah_ , Mark, Jesus, just my nips, not _there_ …” Jack gasped and panted. “M-Mark… _ohhh…_ ”

Mark was hovering around Jack’s collar bones when the clarification arrived. He hummed softly and glanced down; they were both hard as a rock. He figured he could get away with that. They'd never asked him to do it, and that helped a lot. Yet, Jack was making some pretty incredible noises already. Mark hadn't bucked his hips again, so what set them off? “Hang on, hang on.” He contemplated a moment, brows pinched together, then tested the waters by dragging the edge of his incisors along the jut of Jack’s collar. Was it his teeth?

Jack whined again, his fingers clutching and rubbing at Mark in various places. He cried Mark’s name in a fraying voice.

 _‘Holy shit.’_ Well, Mark didn’t really _care_ if teeth was the answer or not. He was going to do that _again_ if it meant hearing Jack shout _his name_ in _that voice._ Jack sounded close- _really_ close. If Mark played his cards right, he could make his boyfriend lose it then and there. He squeezed at Jack’s ass again, just because. ‘ _Okay, Markiplier. Think. Use that awesome brain of yours. How do you make an adorable potato cum his brains out?_

_...really need to phrase your thoughts better, Markiplier. Seriously.’_

He shrugged off the mental self-scolding and decided to just do what his gut told him. That always worked in video games- well, _almost_ always. Jack’s skin, a pretty mix of red and white, hovered tantalizingly before him. In the end there was really only one thing to do- okay, two things. Gripping Jack to avoid any risk of dropping his lover, Mark gave another sharp thrust upwards with his hips. The sensation left him gasping, but the moan that followed was immediately muffled. Mark had let his jaw drop and then promptly snapped it closed tight on Jack’s collar bone. He sunk in his teeth deep as he dared and the gratification was instantaneous for both of them.

A wail was ripped from Jack’s lungs as he arched away from the wall again and came _hard_. Jack’s fingers dug into Mark’s scalp as he tensed and jerked. Then he sagged in Mark’s hold, boneless and pliant against the wall. His head drooped down to Mark’s hair, where he panted wetly into the dark strands. “Oooh, _Mark…_ ” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Oh _god_. Love…”

Mark felt as stupid as everyone always claimed him to be. He’d done it. He’d gotten Jack to orgasm probably harder than he ever had in his entire life- _before_ Mark. He’d not only accomplished what he set out to do, but he discovered several new kinks Jack had as well. He would definitely be utilizing them in the future. Besides a few bumps in the road, Mark also handled himself and his bursts of panic. He’d maintained his breathing, focused on Jack, kicked unwanted thoughts and memories to the curb so hard they broke it. By all rights, he should be on Cloud Nine _already_ and he hadn’t even cum yet.

Then why the _Hell_ did he just want to duck his face back into Jack’s shoulder and hide? Mark was shaken after Jack’s climactic outburst died down and he hated it. He could only draw the conclusion that an unholy trinity of ear-piercing wailing, hands pressing down, down, down on his scalp and Jack’s body spasming wildly against his own had completely overwhelmed his system. Miraculously, his now almost painful erection remained unaffected but Mark’s confidence was faltering.

He slowly removed his teeth from Jack’s skin. In his current state, he didn’t take quite as much pride in the little indentations left behind as he likely should have. His breathing, while still heavy, had gained a ragged quality to it as he caved to old habits. Mark pressed his face into the crook of Jack’s neck with slightly blown pupils. He was suffering a major sensory overload and speaking proved futile when all that trickled out was a soft whine. Shivering, Mark plastered Jack to the wall just long enough to move his hands. They retreated from his ass in favor of a tight, comfort-seeking embrace. He squeezed Jack to his chest and nosed at the neck he’d spotted with hickies and tried quietly to come back to himself. Jack was happy. Jack was _happy_ and _satisfied_ and why couldn’t Mark’s body just _enjoy_ that fact?

Jack grunted softly, dragging his hands away from Mark’s chest and hair to curl his arms around Mark’s back, returning the embrace. Mark was shivering against Jack’s chest, and Jack shushed him absently, nuzzling into his hair. “‘M here,” he mumbled, hugging Mark tightly with both arms _and_ legs. “S’okay, M’rk, ‘m here. ‘F yer gonna drop me, can it be on the bed?”

Mark drew another ragged breath against Jack’s cooling skin and let the natural scent of his boyfriend soothe his frazzled nerves. He nuzzled there, placing a kiss, but didn’t make another attempt at speaking. He didn’t think his voice would cooperate. Instead, he gave a nod to show he understood and carefully peeled them both away from the wall. It was an awkward few steps to the bed; what with Jack’s limbs nearly loose around Mark and a hug the only thing truly keeping Jack’s ass off the floor. The mattress and duvet and pillows were all a welcomed reprieve when Mark did as Jack requested. He let his boyfriend flop haphazardly over the covers and joined him seconds later. For the moment, he ignored his erection and just cuddled up close to Jack’s body.

He went out of his way to nudge his head up under Jack’s chin. His arms laid themselves wherever they could over Jack’s still naked torso but his hips remained firmly where they were. Mark pressed his legs together, tucked his face into the hollow of Jack’s throat and tried to trump his light shock with pride in a job well done. It wasn’t very effective.

Jack’s arms found their way around Mark’s chest again, worming under his side, and Jack tipped his head down to kiss his dark head. “Love you,” he murmured. He trailed his fingers up and down Mark’s spine, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “Mark?” He laid down full again, snuggling back against Mark. Then he hooked a foot around Mark’s shin, tugging at least his legs a little closer. “Mark, you okay, love?”

Mark focused on the strokes of Jack’s fingers along his back; up-down, up-down. He tried to match his breathing to the little rhythm but his blood was still pumping too hard and fast in his veins. It fueled the heat throbbing angrily between his legs and he squeezed them together tighter but ended up triggering another soft, slightly dismayed sound. Then he tensed. Jack’s action was so familiar, something they’d done numerous times before, but it felt as if he was wound too tightly. He was toeing at some invisible edge while his entire body thrummed with over-sensitivity and he was pretty close to cumming, he knew. Maybe it would just be better if he let it die off. He’d satisfied Jack, right? That was enough, right?

_‘It was always enough for them….’_

His hair stood on end at the thought. ‘ _No, no, no. No. Don’t think like that don’t think like that, Jack’s gonna get upset if he finds out.’_ Mark squeezed at Jack best he could in their current position and was making an incredibly valiant effort to just dive face-first into his boyfriend’s trachea. Maybe getting Jack off _first_ hadn’t been such a hot idea after all. “I just.. I’m… I’m a little overwhelmed. Sorry. Give me a minute. I’ll be okay again.” He hoped, anyway.

“Okay,” Jack murmured, tilting his head toward Mark again to kiss his hair. “Okay. Tell me… tell me if there’s anything I can do. I hope I can make you feel this good someday.” He pressed his smile against Mark’s head. “Make you feel so weightless and _happy_ and _good_ … that, Mark, that was the _best_ orgasm I’ve ever had. Nothing else even comes close. You were… you know me so well. Fuck, Mark, you know me better than _I_ know me…”

Jack kept his voice low and quiet, whispering his praise into Mark’s hair as he rubbed Mark's back in little circles. He didn’t try to pull Mark closer, just held him and talked to him, told him how _good_ everything had been and how much he loved Mark.

Mark couldn’t track his breathing while he was so aroused, so he counted other things. The circles Jack rubbed into his back. The little beats of Jack’s pulse in his throat. The matching ones he could feel directly from Jack’s heart where his fingers rested on a bared chest; up and down it went with Jack’s breaths. He let the vibrations of Jack’s vocal chords become a hum of white noise in his head and slowly, he trickled back to himself. There were warm arms around him, Jack’s lips in his hair and his thick accent was filling up the room. Bliss and love and relaxation served as the overtones in all of Jack’s body language and Mark envied him for them, but finally felt a little tingle of pride in his chest. ‘ _I did that. I_ ** _did._** _Me.’_

Gradually, his body overcame the shellshock of success and his attentions returned to a glaring issue still rearing its ugly head- _literally._ Mark didn’t know what to do. Jack had offered to help however possible, but he didn’t want to ask, not when Jack was so comfortable. What could he do, anyway, without touching Mark’s dick? Well, quite a few things, he supposed.

Pouting at his own inner conflict, Mark finally removed one of his hands from Jack’s torso. Tentatively, he let the appendage work its way down towards his crotch as his breath shuddered across Jack’s skin. “Love you. Wanna know you _more._ Wanna know more of you than anything, want… want to feel you, Jack… Jack….” Mark’s nose dipped down to Jack’s collar as he caved, lightly pressing fingertips to the prominent bulge in his pants. “...touch me, please.”

“You’re going to,” Jack murmured. His hands slowly slipped apart, tracing his circles across to Mark’s sides and then his belly. “Mark, you’re gonna know me better than _anyone_. You’re gonna find all the ways to make me fall apart, and all the ways to put me back together. You’re gonna learn how I taste and feel, every _inch_ of me.” Jack kept dusting kisses through Mark’s hair as he talked, but his hands had reached Mark’s stomach now, drawing nails very gently up his abs, pushing higher. He flattened his hands across Mark’s pecs, rubbing his palms over hard nipples, before drawing back to flick them with his fingertips as he kept talking.

“You’re gonna pick me up again and press me against a wall, hear me beg for _you_. You’re gonna get me naked in bed, _this_ bed, between my legs, touching me where _noone_ else ever has. You’re gonna make me fall apart in a thousand ways, each one new and amazing, each time with _your_ name on my lips, in my head, in my heart.”

A sporadic pattern of low groans started up as Jack spoke. Mark _knew_ it was technically dirty talk but the tone Jack used was too tender. His words too gentle, loving, _affectionate_ to be labeled under that term. He spun yarns about how Mark would discover his body without any of the usual lewdness and described future sessions in terms of _lovemaking_ and not just sex. It touched upon a part of Mark that had been trampled and torn to pieces and buried deep by the Ship Sinker. That cuddly, overtly affectionate part of himself he'd finally been able to start tapping into again with Jack. The ways Jack talked and moved were _safe;_ too light and too soft to possibly be a danger. To even be a mockery like his kidnappers had performed so many times before. Jack was coaxing him back towards his orgasm with just a few simple touches, kisses and an incredible amount of love.

Mark supplemented Jack’s efforts by undoing his pants and slipping his hand inside. He didn't bother with his underwear, just went straight beneath the waistband to his struggling dick. Wrapping his fingers around the shaft was an immense relief that left him muffling a deep groan into Jack’s throat. He kissed the spot, over and over, while his hand gave a squeeze and began stroking. It took mere seconds for his breathing to become erratic again while he naturally tucked into Jack, finally allowing their knees and shins and ankles to touch. He gasped from the attention to his overly sensitive nipples and started to tremble. “Jack… Jack.. I want.. w-wanna kiss you. Want… hold me? _”_

“Of course, Mark, of course.” Jack pushed his hands around Mark's back, beneath the rumpled dress shirt he still wore. He folded his arms around Mark, hugging him close while he nuzzled down to find Mark's lips with his own.

“I love you,” Jack whispered when their mouths weren't pressed together.

“I adore you.

“I cherish you.

“Love.

“You're my love.

“My beloved.

“I love you.”

Each statement was whispered against Mark's lips; soft promises that rang with sincerity. Jack held Mark against his bare chest and kissed him over and over again while Mark worked his hand inside his pants to finish himself off.

Mark clutched hard at Jack’s back with the hand not shoved into his pants and he would have been content just burying his face against his boyfriend until he came. Yet when Jack started kissing him, interspersing the tender pecks with loving words, Mark crumbled. He melted into each press of their lips even as the tension in his back and lower belly wound tighter. Every stroke or twist of his hand pushed him closer and closer to orgasm with Jack’s voice cushioning his journey, reassuring him it was okay to finish; okay to stroke himself and ask Jack for his help. Ask Jack to hold and love him through his climax. He tried to whisper the same loving tokens back but his breathing took precedence and Mark could barely keep up between kisses.

Then he didn't have to worry about it anymore, because he squeezed and tugged in that particular way that sent him spilling over into his hand, his boxers; emotions tumbling out in the form of fresh tears. He broke softly in contrast to Jack’s explosive actions earlier. All gentle spasms and a quiet keen for Jack’s ears alone. It wasn't a hard orgasm, but it was a massive relief and Mark’s breath hitched while he trembled in Jack’s arms, riding out the aftershocks. He kissed feverishly at Jack’s lips with a silent mouthing of _‘I love you’._

Jack cradled Mark close, coaxing him through his orgasm and reassuring him Jack was still there, still holding him, still _loving_ him. “I love you,” he whispered into Mark’s mouth. “I love you so much.”

Mark pressed one more kiss to Jack’s lips before fully breaking away. The rest of his body lingered close while he shifted efforts to steadying his breathing. Now that he’d gotten rid of his erection it was easier. He could successfully slow his heartbeat and allow his muscles to unwind from the tension they’d been clinging to all night. Jack was still warm and pliant against him. The world wasn’t ending. He’d done _good._ Jack loved him and the only thing that could make his night better would be clean underwear.

Grimacing a little once he was significantly calmed down, Mark did his best to rub the mess off his fingers. The inside of his boxers were a wreck anyway and he decided it was a necessary sacrifice to spare his nice dress slacks. “...we should really clean up, but I don’t wanna move….”

“If _someone_ didn’t lie all sexy-like on the bed, maybe we could have done some better prepping…” Jack kissed the tip of Mark’s nose. “If you let go of me, I can get us cleaned up. Then we can cuddle all night long. Sound good?”

Mark pouted. “I needed to redeem myself after that screw up in the living room. Besides, you _loved it._ ” With the relief of release and the floaty sensation of an orgasm, he felt a thousand times better. The anxiety was gone with nothing to stoke it and he could just enjoy cuddling his boyfriend like any other night in their bed.

Except there _was_ still cum laying thick in both their boxers. Mark wiggled his nose, then scrunched it up as he managed to worm his hand free. It was still a bit sticky. “...okay. But I’m holding you to the cuddling part.” It was grudgingly he released Jack from his tight hold. Mark took the opportunity to stretch out on the bed and tried to ignore the squishy feeling around his crotch. “There has _got_ to be a better way to do this….”

“Couple ways…” Jack gave Mark one last squeeze before rolling away and climbing out of bed. “We _could_ get naked _before_ we cum, and not after. Or we could just bring a washcloth in here in advance. Just assume we’re gonna get hot and bothered and have it on standby.” He rolled his arms and shoulders and grinned at Mark. “But you’re right. I _did_ love it.”

“I’d be all for the naked plan except we’re still working on the whole ‘letting me see dicks’ thing. Remember? The washcloth probably isn’t a bad idea, though….” At least then they wouldn’t have to leave the bedroom. Mark took the opportunity to ogle his boyfriend and met that bright grin with a lazy smile. He stretched again; curling and twisting toes and limbs like a cat about to take a nap.

Jack went to the dresser and dug fresh night clothes out for Mark, tossing them lightly to the bed. “I’ll hang your pants when I get back. Your shirt’s beyond salvaging…” It would need to be ironed at the _very_ least, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to wash it. Good thing they almost never had a reason to dress formally. “Try not to fall asleep before I get back.”

Mark snorted when Jack appeared to read his mind. “It’s all right, I’ll just buy another one. And no promises….”

It was just a tease. Of course Mark would wait for Jack. He stalled until the Irishman had left the bedroom and then finally pushed himself up. Changing shirts was easy; he left the rumpled remains of the button-up at the edge of the bed. With his pants, he hesitated. After tapping fingers against the material for several agonizing moments, Mark huffed and proceeded to wiggle out of the constricting garment. Rather than tossing it to join the shirt, he let the pants rest in his lap as a makeshift cover. He looked at his wiggling toes, let his gaze travel up his bared legs and hummed. He didn’t have pants on in their bed. That wasn’t so bad.

Jack returned with a towel and a warm, wet washcloth. When he rounded the bed to find Mark still pantsless, he hesitated. His cheeks were a little pink as he handed over the washcloth and towel. “I’ll, uh… want me to leave the room? Or just turn around?”

Mark flushed a little himself, mainly from Jack’s reaction. He was quick to accept the amenities as he cleared his throat. “You can, uh… turn around. Just.. give me some space? I’ll tell you when it’s okay to look.” He kind of felt like a little kid, but just being _pantsless_ in front of Jack threatened to make him nervous.

“Okay…” Jack turned around, then stuck his hand out behind him. “Uh, if you give me your pants, I can take care of them while you get cleaned up and changed?”

Mark stared at the extended hand. Silently, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He _knew_ he had to move the pants to clean up. That didn’t make him feel any more comfortable about getting rid of his sole cover, but Jack wasn’t looking. If he agreed to Mark’s terms, then he wouldn’t peek. It should be okay. After a few seconds longer of consideration, he piled the garment into Jack’s hand. “No peeking. It’ll only be a minute.”

“No peeking,” Jack agreed. He brought the slacks around to his front, shaking them out and folding them before he walked away from Mark, not even turning his head a little. He went to the wardrobe and took out a hanger to put away Mark’s slacks.

Mark had waited until Jack was walking away to quickly wriggle out of his sticky boxers. He pulled a disgusted face the entire time and was equally fast at chucking them into the nearby hamper. ‘ _Gross gross gross_ ** _freakin’ nasty.’_**

Taking a cautionary glance at Jack just to reassure his paranoid brain no one was watching him, Mark carefully wiped away the cum still splattered against his crotch. He scrubbed at his hand as well before patting himself dry with the towel. Both linens joined his boxers in the hamper. Afterwards, Mark dressed his lower half in record time. He was plopped back down onto the bed in less than two minutes with a relieved sigh. “Okay, you’re good. Thanks for that.”

Jack turned around and crossed the room quickly, climbing back onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Mark. He didn’t say anything, just burrowed into the crook of Mark’s neck and hugged him tight.

The speed Jack had used startled Mark but he managed not to flinch as he was embraced. For a second, he was tense with uncertainty, but a few breaths helped to ease it out of his system. Still a little stunned and bemused, he slipped his arms around Jack’s waist to return the hug. Gently, he pressed an affectionate kiss to shaved short brown locks. “Hey there. You okay?? Sorry I made you wait.”

Jack nodded, taking several deep breaths. “I just… this is _real_. What we’re doing. You… we’re living together. _Together_ together. And I just… it kinda all hit me at once.” He turned his head enough to press a kiss to Mark’s neck. “I love you, Mark. I love having you here. This isn’t… it’s not a bad. It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

Mark shivered from the slightly ticklish kiss. He was used to Jack being clingy and affectionate, but Jack’s sudden realization of their fluffy domesticity had amped it all up to a new level. Personally, he hadn’t given the situation much thought. He was with Jack, and he was happy. Mark knew that simple mindset would probably bite him in the ass later but right now, with good feelings all around, he didn’t care. He rubbed a hand up and down along the curve of Jack’s spine and let the Irishman tuck up beneath his chin. “I love you too. It’s okay, Jack. I get it. Trust me, if there’s anyone that _gets_ being overwhelmed by something that seems really stupid…” It would be him. Hell, it had _just happened._ “...I’m really glad. That we can be here together; like this. I… I don’t care what anyone else thinks of it. I love you, and I love _this;_ this thing we’ve made. Our life together.”

Jack nuzzled at Mark’s neck and nodded his agreement. “Let’s get under the duvet,” he said, kissing Mark’s skin again, “and I want to hold you until we both fall asleep.”

“Not if I hold you first.” It was incredibly cheesy and, well, _domestic._ Exactly what Jack was suffering over and Mark pressed a sympathetic kiss to Jack’s crown. “Hold on to me.”

It took some effort and awkward maneuvering, but Mark managed to tug them both back into the center of the bed. He flopped them down onto the mattress with a bit more force than necessary and giggled in response. “Oops. Sorry. Here-” There was more wiggling, grunting and the slight flailing of limbs as both men worked their way under the covers. They came back together in a heartbeat once the duvet had settled over their shoulders. Mark, tangling up his limbs with Jack’s, buried his nose and mouth into the shock of green at the top of his boyfriend’s head. He breathed, and was soothed. “Better. G’night, Jack….”

“Good night, Mark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	77. 8/22: Dicking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark wants to confront something. Jack is more than willing to assist.

Three days later, and Mark was still thinking about that night.

He thought about the way they cuddled beneath the duvet together before falling asleep and the happiness he could feel _oozing_ out of Jack as the fullness of their reality crashed into him. How it had felt to press his boyfriend up against a wall and make him cum with barely any touches. The taste of Jack’s skin on his tongue. The way it caved to his teeth and made Jack _sing._ Mark thought about how attractive Jack couldn’t accept he was. All fair skin and lean muscle and…

His brain stuttered to a halt again at the thought of Jack’s appearance _below the belt;_ things Mark had been unable to see because of his fears and conditioning. Neither of them really had a doubt coming face-to-dick with another man would trigger him, even if it was Jack. They couldn’t bring themselves to take the risk- or at least, _Mark_ couldn’t. Yet as they began to explore safer avenues in the sexual aspect of their relationship, he became curious. Mark _knew_ what lay waiting for him under those tight jeans and emerald green underpants but dicks weren’t identical, and the part of him that _loved_ getting Jack off wanted to know how it looked. How _his boyfriend_ looked- without the pants.

He wanted more than just that, though. Mark wanted to see Jack naked. He wanted to _touch_ Jack naked, without freaking out. More than anything, he wanted to be bare and exposed in front of his boyfriend and feel _safe._ Until that became a reality, Mark just didn’t feel he could honestly claim he trusted Jack more than anyone else in the world. Trust was supposed to mean security, but he couldn’t even let Jack see him in his boxers, and Jack never removed more than a button and zipper. It was frustrating.

When Mark was frustrated, particularly with his own trauma-induced shortcomings and irrational thinking, he would retreat to his sanctuary. _His_ sanctuary. The bedroom belonged to both of them but the garden, that was Mark’s safehaven. He’d already tended all the plants but still his conflicts plagued him, so he sat out by the peppermint to just breathe and think. Their scent always helped to soothe his nerves. Chica was sniffing about the garden and served as his primary “excuse” to duck out of the cabin for a little while. Mark knew Jack would come looking for him eventually, but he’d take what seclusion time he could get to mull over his latest conundrum. Jack was too much of a distraction with his clothes and body and concealed… _bits._ Mark groaned and buried his face in his hands at the thought. “I’m so fucking hopeless….”

“You said it, not me.”

Mark jerked out of his own hands in surprise at the sudden interjection. He’d been so focused on his own messy thought process he didn’t even hear Jack’s approach. Chica was supposed to warn him, but then she knew Jack far too well to start barking at his presence. He should have known better. “Jack..”

Jack sat beside Mark and rested his head on Mark’s shoulder, looking up at him with big blue eyes. “Hi. I missed you. Just wanted to say hi before getting back to work. You okay out here?”

Mark took a few deep breaths as his boyfriend quietly joined him among the plants. The soothing aroma once more filled his lungs, steadying him. He didn’t flinch from the physical contact, and Jack’s mesmerizing eyes drew him in until he was naturally slipping an arm around the Irishman. He held him a bit closer and let his cheek come to rest on fluffy green hair. It was only a few shades brighter than the flora surrounding them, as if Jack was some adorable little forest nymph who decided to grace Mark with his presence. At least with his boyfriend sitting, Mark’s gaze was far less drawn to a jean clad crotch. Granted, that was only a temporary solution to the problem. Jack could tell something was wrong and Mark didn’t know what to do.

“Hi. Missed you too. Sorry, I’ve just been… thinking. I’m okay.” He was. Mark wasn’t upset or panicking or breaking down, he was just frustrated. He knew bottling up those frustrations would only lead to negative results, though. How many times had he said Jack deserved to always know the truth? That communication was key to any relationship? Dan’s and Tom’s words echoed in his mind.

Frowning with an uncomfortable furrow etched into his brow, Mark scraped his heels gently along the grass. His fingers pressed into the spot just beneath Jack’s ribs. “...Jack….” He licked anxiously at his lips; recalled how _good_ it felt when Jack would kiss them. “...there’s something I really wanna do, but I don’t know how I can do it. And it’s gonna end up driving me crazy.”

Jack mirrored Mark’s gesture, tucking an arm around Mark’s waist. “Oh? What is it? Maybe I can help you figure out a way?”

The limb served as an extra support beam in more ways than one. Mark relaxed into it- into _Jack-_ and found the words he needed to say easier to draw out. It was just Jack and himself out in _their_ (his, really) garden, surrounded by some of Mark’s favorite wild plants with Chica flopped a couple yards away taking a doggy nap in the weak sunlight. It was beautiful, peaceful and _perfect._ Mark knew Jack wouldn't react negatively to what he was about to say, however, the pleasant surroundings helped to ease the part of his brain that always anticipated the worst. He picked at one of the peppermint leaves and rubbed the oils into his fingers.

“I want.. Jack, I want to see you. I mean, _really_ see you. _All_ of you. I want… you to be able to take your pants off, and your underwear. Whether we're doing something sexual or just cuddling or _whatever._ I want to know what you look like- _really_ look like- when you're lost in the things I'm doing, in me, and I'm driving you nuts to the point you're screaming about it- about _me._ I want to know what that looks like.. what _you_ look like. I want us to be able to enjoy ourselves and not constantly feel uncomfortable in our clothes. I want to be naked in front of you Jack and not feel vulnerable because it's so _wrong._ It's not fair that they made me so fucking scared of this crap and I just… I want to fix it. I want to _do_ it, more than anything. But I don't.. I just don't know _how.”_ Mark’s voice pitched into a slight whine at the end. His expression had crumpled to showcase his true frustration and desperation for change, for improvement. It felt like he was caught up in the same road block, over and over, making progress elsewhere but not where it would be the most significant. He was breathing a bit heavily from his rant so he shifted focus to getting his count back, even if the risk of an anxiety attack was extremely low. ‘ _One-two, in-out, one-two…’_

Jack nuzzled against Mark's shoulder. “I want that too, Mark. I don't _need_ it, you know there's no pressure, but…” He sighed. “It would be nice if laundry wasn't quite so...crusty.”

Mark snorted. Yeah, he didn't think having sticky pants would ever be a situation he could get used to. With how active and eager their sexcapades were becoming it was starting to make itself a real hassle.

A kiss against Mark's shoulder accented the jape, and Jack tightened his arm around Mark's waist. “I guess...If that's what you want to work on next, we should break it down. What starts your anxieties? You being naked? Me being naked? Naked...naked dicks in general? Like...If it weren't sexual, if you just walked in on me changing my pants or something, would that be triggering?”

Mark tried to focus on the kiss; on the arm wrapped snug around his waist and he tightened his own grip in return. “I don't.. You being naked isn't really a problem. It's just you. I've seen you in your underwear before and it's not like.. not like **_they_** ever fully stripped for me.” In that room, being naked was associated with being powerless. Clothes meant you still had control. “It's… more your dick. Any dick. Just thinking about seeing one, it's.. I don't know if it'd even be funny for me anymore. Like it used to. Because seeing a dick always meant…” Bad things. Sexual favors forced on him- _in him._ He'd come to relate the sight of a naked dick to pain and humiliation. It had even taken a while for Mark to get over the sight of his _own_ dick.

Mark’s kidnappers might not have been naked, but _he_ was, always. After they shredded his underwear he never got hands on another piece of clothing or cover besides Chica’s collar. “And- and me being naked. Because.. because I'm vulnerable. And exposed. And being naked let them take advantage of _everything._ They could _see_ ** _everything._** I couldn't hide anything from them and it took me _so long_ to get used to clothes again but at the same time it was this huge security blanket because I was _dressed._ I was covered and safe and no one could see what my body was doing but Jack-” He had to take a deep breath as he hugged himself with his free arm. “...I _want_ to see you. I want _you_ to see _me._ I want us to make each other happy without me being afraid or us never being able to take off our pants. You're so damn important to me…”

“So...dicks and you being naked.” Jack reached over with his free hand to set it on Mark's. “That's...okay. I think that's doable. We just have to desensitize you to dicks again, and you don't...You don't have to match me clothes for clothes. And we can always pull a blanket over us, if that helps you get used to being naked while still being covered. Without being exposed. We could even...like how we did with the collar. Baby steps, overnight. Maybe you try taking your pants off and leaving your boxers on under the duvet. I don't see anything, you don't show anything, no sex, but...It's a start.”

“‘Desensitize me to dicks’ oh god that sounds so stupid.” Mark couldn't help it, he still laughed at their _mention._ It was just the sight of them that made his heart leap up into his throat. He sighed and turned his hand so he could squeeze at Jack’s. “I think… I think I could manage that. Having no pants on under the covers. I.. I did try that, a few days ago. Having my pants off in front of you. It… sort of worked?” Mark had been anxious, but he hadn't panicked. He might have been able to slip under the covers like that if he hadn't needed to change his boxers. “I think it is important, to like…. Try getting me okay with being naked again, without the sex being there. I need to… I _need_ to associate no clothes as okay and not always relating to… that.”

“I could too,” Jack offered. “Take my pants off at night. Or sleep shirtless. Just get you accustomed to _me_ , without making it about sex.” Stroking his thumbs against Mark’s, Jack addressed the other problem. “We could pull up some old videos with dick jokes, or…” Jack snickered against Mark's shoulder. “We could look up some porn, make fun of the cheesy acting? Dicks on a screen can't hurt you, right? And if we watch porn, we'll stay clothed. One step at a time. No point in rushing.”

Mark knew dealing with the dick aspect would be tougher, though. Being naked was just a risk. Dicks themselves had especially brought him undue harm in more ways than one. He shook his head, at first. “It's not talking about them that freaks me out, it's…” Jack bringing up porn gave Mark pause. He had never considered that, but Jack had a valid point. He was always scared of being _hurt._ That was the issue, but dicks that weren't right there in his presence technically couldn't do anything. They were just _there_ and silly looking. Jack’s giggling was warm against his shoulder. “I… guess that might work. We could try it, at least. I haven't… tried watching anything, since I came back. Didn't see a point and sort of just figured it'd freak me out but… if you're there, and I start to panic, you can make sure we stop. And you can stop me from losing it. So I think it'd be okay. To try.” Mark gave a little nod even as his heart fluttered nervously in his chest. At that point, he was willing to try anything relatively safe.

Jack smiled and squeezed Mark's side again. “Whenever you're ready, we can try something. However slow it goes, it's still progress.”

Mark nodded along with Jack’s suggestions. “Baby steps, right? I guess just because I'm further along in my recovery process that doesn't mean it's not a valid thing anymore.” He'd been doing so well with the regular problems- panic, anxiety, triggers- he hadn't needed to concern himself with that old mainstay. The one that had _gotten him_ to this point. Now it seemed they'd be using it again for problems that were a bit more specific. Mark shot his boyfriend a gentle little smile, squeezing back. His fingertips had tucked themselves neatly along Jack’s ribs as if they belonged there.

He used a moment to take stock of his current state. What his “levels” were in terms of energy, motivation, anxiety, will. Things he always needed to track when they tried something new. After some time, he gave another nod, more to himself than to Jack. “...I wanna try it tonight. The porn thing. While I'm still all ramped up about the idea, y’know? We don't have to do anything else. We’ll just put some on and.. and see how it goes. Fully clothed.”

“Gay or straight porn?” Jack asked, humming. “I've never actually watched any gay porn. Closest I've gotten is Septiplier stuff in the Jacksepticeye tag, and that's just...weird.”

“Oh. Uh… I mean yeah, I guess gay would make more sense. More dicks-” Mark snerked softly. “-like you said and… well, I mean. It wouldn't hurt to get an idea about… what we’ll be doing. When we get that far.”

Had Mark been told he'd be watching gay porn for anything more than some gag in the future before he was kidnapped, he wouldn't have taken the person seriously. Just another fangirl with hopes too high. Now he was going to be watching some with Jack, his _boyfriend._ Someone he currently _did gay things with._ On occasion the major changes in Mark’s life just slammed into his face, sort of like Jack with their domesticity a few nights ago. He released Jack’s hand to comb fingers through his hair at the mention of Septiplier. “I always just tried to avoid the art for it. I mean, it was entertaining reading the bad fanfiction sometimes but the art just weirded me out too. Wonder how accurate it is compared to how we've actually been doing things….” It was more a tease than an actual curiosity.

“Yeah, I don't seek it out, but some people tag it anyway. You're usually on top.” Jack wrinkled his nose, then flushed and snuggled against Mark's side.

“Yeah. It's the same with the fanfiction. I'm surprised they haven't been drawing it more the other way around after…” After everything that had been shown on that website; all the people who had seen Mark get “topped” brutally in various ways. There had been pictures from the site flooding tags across the board at one point and Mark hadn't risked looking at social media until weeks after he woke up in the hospital. It was better now; harder to find unless someone specifically sought it out. Jack and himself wouldn't be doing that, but they'd be going into risky territory by visiting porn sites.

“Gay porn probably has more dicks. I bet we can find some ridiculous ones on YouPorn or RedTube, though. Something smuttier than ‘sexy interracial man gets slapped by two Europeans.’"

It took Mark a minute to get Jack’s reference and when it finally hit him he snorted. “Does Felix even count as ‘European’ since he's Swedish? Plus the Irishman in that one’s hot as Hell too. They should fix the title.” Pleasant as the humor was, Mark felt it slipping away as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Though, Jack…” Crap. How did he address this?

“Hmm?”

Pictures weren't the only things taken from that website to be posted elsewhere. Mark, stomach twisting, shifted to curl a bit better into Jack. He buried his face in green hair and found the scent there better than the peppermint could ever be. “Jack…. What’re.. what do you think the chances are that… the videos. The ones from the- that fucking website. What do you think the odds are that…” That they'd been posted on those sites for fetishists, that they were still circulating and being recommended because half of them could easily be misconstrued for consensual play? It didn't matter if the story was known. If people wanted it, they'd get it, especially for the right price.

Jack sat up to better cradle Mark against his chest, letting Mark hide in his neck. “You know what they say about the internet,” he said quietly, sadly. “Once it's there, it's there forever.”

“Never thought I'd have a reason to hate that saying….” Mark’s hands shifted to gripping at Jack’s shirt as he fully turned into Jack’s chest. He scooted until he was practically sitting in Jack’s lap, reveling in the safety and comfort of Jack’s arms instead of letting his brain try to count up all the people who had seen him used and abused. Mark knew some sites had restrictions and rules against videos like the ones the Ship Sinker had taken, yet for every one of those there were five more that didn't bother. He'd probably avoid them forever just to be absolutely sure there wasn't a risk of seeing his own face on a sidebar.

Jack's arms tightened around Mark. “If we...If we do the porn thing, I'll find videos. Just in case…”

Mark tucked into Jack’s neck and let his boyfriend cuddle him close. In the peacefulness of their little garden, surrounded by the fruits of Mark’s labor and the scent of peppermint, it was easy for him to sweep the dark thoughts away. Hopefully that night would prove to be no different. “Okay…. Okay. We can try. I want to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	78. 8/22: Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Jack are both eager to try new things, but they might have taken it a step too far.

The rest of the day was surprisingly normal despite talking about porn in the garden with Jack. Jack went back inside to keep working, and Mark putzed around in the garden and then went to make his own video. His channel was active again, and almost as consistent as it used to be, though the videos tended to be shorter and simpler. Mark was still overcoming obstacles.

By the time the sun was setting, Mark’s anxiety had reached a manageable but uncomfortable peak. He knew Jack was looking through porn sites and videos to prepare them for tonight. Although committed to the idea, he feared how he might react. Jack would be there for support but if their idea failed, if Mark still freaked out at the sight of dicks beyond his reach, he wasn’t sure what else they could possibly try. Up until now, they’d been able to overcome or find a way around everything. He was terrified by the thought this obstacle might prove too insurmountable, but they wouldn’t know until they tried, and Jack was worth it.

That evening, Jack got ready for bed in the bathroom like usual, but he brought his laptop to bed this time. He opened it up and clicked over to the porn site. “Still want to try this tonight?” he asked Mark, not yet turning the computer to face him.

Mark fidgeted with the duvet where he was tucked up beneath it, the edge pooled messily in his lap while he sat beside Jack on their shared bed. Technically, he _did_ still have his pants on, but the extra layer of cover helped put him at ease. Brown eyes shifted a little anxiously between Jack’s hesitant face and the laptop before them. He could still say no; they could just lay down and cuddle and go to bed. Except that would leave Mark at square one.

The thought strengthened his resolve. He had to at least _try._ If he never tried, he’d never get better. ‘ _If it’s too much, he’ll turn it off. He will. We don’t have to watch_ ** _anything.’_** Mark drew a breath that filled his lungs to the brim and let his eyes settle firmly on Jack’s blues. “Let’s do this.” There was a harrowing pause. “...hold my hand?”

“Of course.” Jack scooted over beneath the duvet and wrapped his arm around Mark’s waist, then turned the computer to rest on their laps. “Okay, so… I already vetted these kinda, but I did it muted, so I don’t know what they’re actually saying. I guess we’ll just… find out together. And I only watched the first couple of minutes, to make sure the camera person knew how to use a camera. Ready?” He clicked one open, made it fullscreen, and then reached over to take Mark’s hand with his free one.

Mark hugged himself with an arm so he could find Jack’s hand and interlock their fingers. He gave the appendage a squeeze just to reassure himself of its presence and released the breath he’d taken in a solid stream. “Yeah… yeah, I’m ready.”

The first video Jack had found had the participants mercifully dressed to start with. Jack squeezed Mark’s hand reassuringly. “If you need it stopped, just let me know. Or if you want to skip it and try a different one. My browser history for today is _terrifying._ ”

The side-embrace they had going on was slightly awkward, but Mark didn’t care. Jack’s arms were around him, his hands were holding him and he could do this. He was _going_ to do this. The video started out tame enough. Just a rather attractive, muscular guy with blond hair laying on a couch taking “seductive selfies”. Nothing scary about that. In fact, he actually found the sight relatable. Mark relaxed some as the nightmare his brain had been conjuring up failed to immediately present itself. “Okay. Okay, I’m fine right now. You can clear your browser history later. Hilarious as it’d be for anyone to find out you had a gay porn marathon today.”

Jack snorted softly, nuzzling against Mark's hair. “I'd say it was for you if anyone asks. 'Oh, Markiplier wanted me to look some up…’ Everyone will believe me…”

“Bull-honkey. I’m the straightest man there ever was to straight, Jack. Straighter than an arrow.” Mark’s eyes were on the video, but most of his attention was on Jack. The Irishman was serving as his tether _and_ his rock for this little experiment. So long as he knew Jack was there, he could remind himself things would be okay.

The video was still rolling at a pretty tame pace. The introductory sequence was slow, which was good for Mark. The blond’s dick didn’t make an appearance until a good minute or so in and the first thing he did with it was take pictures. Mark’s heart had skipped a few beats at the initial sight of the thing but any fear he felt shattered in response to the dick pics being taken. It was just such a stupid way to start off a porno. Mark couldn’t even begin to take the scene seriously as the blond began to fondle himself for the camera. He turned to bury a snicker in Jack’s neck. “How bored do you have to be…?”

“I dunno, Mark. I've wondered that myself about some of your Instagram pics…” Jack kissed Mark's hair.

“Hey now. Posing and showing a little leg is _not_ the same as just taking a bunch of dick pics.” Mark kissed at Jack’s neck and continued in a whisper, “Besides, you _liked_ my Instagram pics….”

“I guess if he's taking the pics for someone else…?” Jack turned his attention back to the scene unfolding. “Oh look, he does have a boyfriend after all. We've never kissed over the couch like that…”

Mark could have been content just spending the night bantering with his boyfriend but Jack’s comments on the video drew his own attention back to it. The dick-selfie guy was being kissed upside-down over the couch, and his boyfriend was petting at his chest and reaching down to ‘help’ between his legs. “I hope you don’t want _me_ to send you that many pictures of my junk. I mean, that’s just _excessive._ ”

He let his chin rest on Jack’s shoulder, rubbing his stubble against the chunk of revealed skin with a content hum. He was focusing less on the dick action itself and more on the romantic aspect of the scene and his cheeks puffed out a bit. “We should try that. I wanna kiss you upside-down like Spiderman. But without the mask and all the rain.” Mark didn’t say as much, but he really wouldn’t have minded experiencing the other stuff as well. Being fondled from behind like that was a pretty big _no_ for himself as it had been a favorite position of his kidnappers, but doing it to Jack? Mark’s brain conjured up possible reactions that were _very_ nice. “Oh- fuck. That was a jarring edit holy shit. Zero out of fucking ten.” He’d forgotten how terrible the editing in porn could be as the entire scene jumped to something completely different.

Jack kissed one of Mark’s puffed cheeks. “We can try tomor-shit, that was after the point I stopped watching. Damn, that’s a _bad_ jump cut. I did better when I was first learning! Good god, where does porn get its editors!?”

“Not YouTube, clearly.” Mark’s nose was lightly scrunched in distaste but at least the scene was nice. It still carried a romantic feel with its music and how tenderly the blonde's boyfriend worked to remove his shirt. They kissed more than anything else. It reminded Mark a lot of Jack and himself. Honestly, it was pretty sweet. Mark felt inspired to kiss at Jack’s neck again as the boyfriend’s clothes started coming off and-

“Oh my _fucking_ ** _god_** Jack Jack that is _not_ a penis that is a literal log hanging off that dude’s junk I cannot-” Mark was so shocked he didn’t even have a chance to feel terror. No one from the room could hold a candle to this anaconda wielding monster. It was like a train wreck. He couldn’t bring himself to look away; as if waiting for an elephant to spontaneously reveal itself from between the well hung boyfriend’s legs. “Oh _god._ ”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ!_ ” Jack’s eyes went wide. “God, Mark, you’d better not be that big… That poor guy...who’d ever want that monster up their butts? Or which sort of girl? Jesus…” Jack hugged Mark a little closer.

Mark sputtered. “ _No way._ I’m not even ashamed to say that. I am _nowhere_ ** _near_** that big, Jack. Oh my god. Oh my _god_ I couldn’t handle carrying that thing around how does that guy even put on _pants???_ ” He shuddered at the thought of that behemoth getting _anywhere_ near his body, let alone one of his _penetrable orifices._ Mark clung to Jack and frowned as the music cut-off. “That was literally the best part of this video why would you get rid of itoh _mygod Jack he’s gonna_ ** _suck it._** ” The horror was clear in his tone and face as the blond went in for a blowjob. Mark’s voice dipped into a strained whisper as if the two men could hear them through the screen. _“Is his jaw gonna unhinge like a fucking snake??”_

 _Jack's_ jaw dropped, but then the boyfriend spoke. “Wow,” he parroted in the same bored tone as the actor, “I love how you suck my dick.” He was laughing again, curling against Mark as his shoulders shook. “Jesus, dude, try to be a _little_ happy your boyfriend isn't terrified of your anaconda!” He leaned over to kiss Mark's hair. “You are much better at the dirty talk than he is. You never make me feel like it's a chore for you to receive anything I do.”

Jack’s mimicry thankfully broke Mark back into a more positive, humorous mindset. Watching the blond struggle with his boyfriend's massive cock had been edging towards bad territory before Jack spoke up. Instantly, Mark’s grimace broke into a grin and he snorted with amusement at Jack’s antics. “Ohmygod.” He started to giggle while he nuzzled affectionately at the side of Jack’s head. “My dirty talk might be bad but at least it always has feeling! If I found someone that _wanted_ to put their mouth on my dick at _that_ size I'd be _the most_ grateful man alive.” Mark let his voice dip into a low register but kept it stoic as possible, leaning to whisper in Jack’s ear. “Wow, Jack. I love how you kiss my nipples.”

Miraculously, he managed to keep a straight face up until a few seconds after his statement as Jack turned to look at him. Yet while they giggled over the terrible acting, he couldn't help but notice the blond actually seemed to be enjoying himself. True, it was a porno, but he appeared to be _very_ enthusiastic about getting his mouth on his boyfriend's junk. A slight furrow entered Mark’s brow. “...I feel like I shouldn't be so weirded out that he actually _likes_ giving that guy a blowjob but….”

Jack swallowed and looked back at what Mark was talking about. Blond really was getting into sucking on that monster cock. “Maybe they really are boyfriends in real life,” Jack said. “Maybe big guy really likes this but he's not supposed to be all emotive for the porn, so blond is deliberately trying to make him fall apart.”

“...I mean, I like making _you_ fall apart. I guess I can understand that….” Mark’s words were cheeky but went unaccompanied by his usual sly side-eye or smirk. He was still watching the video and trying to apply Jack’s concepts. “But.. I also like making you feel good. They're kinda one in the same except it's way more fun when you just absolutely _lose it._ ” _There_ went just a hint of a smirk.

“You've had blowjobs before. They feel _really_ good, remember? Maybe blond just likes knowing that he's making someone else feel that good. I mean…” Jack's face went pink, but he continued. “I always liked...liked eating out my girlfriends, because of how I could get them to react, you know? When they really got into it, and it was because of _me_...head rush, man.”

“I mean… yeah, I've done that.. once or twice.” Mark mumbled. Jack wasn't the only one pink anymore. “...never enjoyed it as much as I have with you, though. Uh. Making you react, and really get into it, I mean. Not oral.” Mark went a deeper red and hid his head in the side of Jack’s neck again. He could still peek at the video, and he wondered if he could possibly be that enthusiastic about sucking _Jack’s_ dick. Jack, the man he loved, who was _nothing_ like the only men he'd ever sucked off- _against his will._ Quietly, he nosed up beneath Jack’s chin and whispered, “...do you want to do that to me, Jack? Do you wanna get me into it; see how I react? You think you'd get the same head rush if I got to a point where I could let you?” It wasn't teasing. There was genuine curiosity in Mark’s voice as he pressed a tender kiss to Jack’s pulse point.

Jack shifted a little and nodded. “I _already_ get a head rush making you fall apart,” he confessed. “I'd love to make you really let go, to get you naked and relaxed and feeling oh so amazing. I don't know...I have the worst gag reflex known to man, so I don't know if I'd be able to do _that_ , but I'd find some other way…”

Mark wasn't any less flustered. With Jack admitting he wanted to do his damned best to swallow Mark’s cock, he was pretty damn crimson. Jack could probably feel the heat of Mark’s blush against his neck but he kept hiding anyway. He felt a little less dirty about the scenarios playing out in his head if Jack wasn't looking at him. Jack, with his big smile and loud mouth on Mark’s dick. Trying to take him in, failing miserably, wiping drool off his chin and persisting anyway. He'd probably have to use his hands too, and more of his tongue than his mouth though he could possibly take in Mark’s head without gagging. He'd look up at Mark with those gorgeous blue eyes and-

Still bright red and resembling Christmas, Jack nuzzled down against Mark's hair. “Do _you_ want me to do that?” he asked. “Wrap my mouth around your dick and suck you off?”

 _“Fuck.”_ Mark could feel himself getting hard. Not from the porn, but from his own sexual fantasies with Jack. He squeezed his legs together and bit down on his lip. “They.. they never. Said it was ‘too gay’, isn't that a fucking riot, or that I didn't deserve it. I don't think… I don't think it'd be a risk, if you tried. I don't know. I get nervous when I think about anyone else touching me.. there, so. But…” Mark buried his face into Jack’s shoulder. “...yeah. Yeah, I'd want to try that….”

“After everything they did, _that_ was too gay?” Jack muttered, shaking his head. He pressed kisses to the top of Mark's. “I love you. I love you, and whenever you're ready, we can try. _When you're ready._ ”

Mark was comforted and wanted to just hide there in Jack’s shoulder for the rest of the night, but abruptly his boyfriend jumped.

“ _Jesus_! Transitions are not your enemy!”

The exclamation piqued Mark’s curiosity and drew his gaze back to the screen. Blond was crouched over the couch, ass up, and boyfriend's fingers were buried up to his knuckles.

Any heat that had managed to leave Mark’s face came rushing back with a vengeance. His heart felt like it was bungee jumping from how it plummeted then rose straight back up to lodge itself firmly in his throat. He could feel Jack’s abdominal muscles clenching where his hand still lingered, and Mark was hardly loose himself from the startling sight of one man shoving his fingers up another’s ass. He didn't clench, though he swore he could feel a phantom ache while he watched the exaggerated prep scene. Mark had felt that before- many times. Usually not to _prep_ him, but more to hurt him- humiliate him. _They_ only ever prepped him for real if they were having trouble fitting inside with all the friction. It became easier over time and though the damage had healed, Mark’s ass could never be the same. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to let anything up there again.

A little shaken from memories of his own personal experience, Mark tucked himself closer to Jack. The first signs of a possible erection had died down significantly but so long as he breathed, he could get through the fingering scene. His face scrunched up in disgust as the fingering man spit on his “boyfriend’s” ass. “Gross. What the fuck. Why would you even do that? As if having fingers up your butthole wouldn't be bad enough, you don't have to go and spit on the poor guy….”

“Maybe it's a sexy thing for gay men?” Jack twisted a little to hug Mark properly. “Remember, this is just porn. It's exaggerated and not meant to actually be what _feels_ good, just what _looks_ good. We don't have to do what they do.” He leaned down to kiss at Mark's face. “I love you, okay? I won't spit on you, and you don't spit on me.”

The spitting wasn't as much of a problem for Mark as the fingering. Blond, at least, seemed into it, and boyfriend wasn't just ramming into him. He seemed to be taking his time and ensuring blond would be ready for his monster cock.

“Guess I'm just Jacksexual then.” If that was a stereotype or fetish gay men were into then Mark wanted no part of it. Besides, he was really only physically attracted to _Jack_ anyway. It's not like he wanted to kiss and grind against any other men. He burrowed down into Jack’s arms with a little nod. “Doesn't even look all that good to me.” Mark’s tone was childish and a little petty but he didn't care. He couldn't fathom what was going on in the video ever making him feel good. (At the very least, not the spitting part.)

“Oh, it doesn't?” Jack leaned in close to Mark's burrowed head, dropping his voice to his own lower register. He wasn't able to go as deep as Mark, but he could still get a little rumble in it. “You can't imagine bending me over the couch? Spreading me open with your fingers until I'm begging for it, for _you_? You don't think that will be good? Because _I_ do. I remember how I felt with you pinning me against the wall. How much I _wanted_ you to fuck me. How much I _still_ want that…”

“Oh what the _Hell,_ Jack. The sexy voice is _my_ thing. You can't try to use my own trick against me!” While true Jack’s voice wasn't quite so spine-tingling, hearing his boyfriend speak in such a low, gravelly tone was hard for Mark not to find arousing. (Ha.) _Especially_ if he was going to paint Mark such a pretty picture.

Oh if Mark’s imagination wasn't plenty happy to play along with Jack’s game. He could see the scene in his mind’s eye as clearly as the porn actually playing in front of them. Unlike the porn, this scene actually set his dick to thrumming with interest between his legs. He sunk incisors into his bottom lip and squeezed them together again. “ _Yes,_ I can imagine that, thanks. And if I get a boner now it's gonna be all your fault. You'd better be prepared to take responsibility. Maybe I _will_ bend you over something and use you like a finger puppet. Maybe I'll shove my not-monster-dick up your butt if you want it that bad.” He was red to his ears and huffing up a storm but the threats were empty. They both knew those acts were currently beyond him.

Sighing, Mark tried to give Jack a smile and snuck in a quick peck on the lips. “I love you.” He leaned in again, letting his tongue trace along the seam of them slowly and sensually. It was his turn to smirk. “Licking is better anyway.”

“Hell yeah it is…” Jack's eyes were wide. “Mark, you know…” Now it was Jack's turn to lean in for a kiss, freeing one hand to cup the side of Mark's face, “if at any point you want to turn off the porn and try a practical exercise, you just have to say the word…”

Mark hummed into Jack’s lips and was smiling easier when they pulled away. He pressed into the hand cupping his cheek with a soft little exhale. “Y’know, I think we managed to turn ourselves on more than that porn ever could. We didn't even have to try. I'm not sure if that's something to brag or feel silly about.” He giggled and blindly reached to stop the video; successful after a few awkward taps.

Mark had Jack and was already getting lost in those blue eyes as he leaned in for another kiss. He deepened it a bit and reached up to hold the hand on his cheek. Grabbing at Jack's other hand, Mark brought it to his chest. ‘ _Feel my heartbeat?’_ Mark held it there. Breaking the kiss, his eyes rose halfway to meet Jack's again. "I want this. I want you,” he emphasized sincerely. His smile saddened. “But my body's scarred. A lot. And it's scared. It'll take time, but... I want to make you happy. I want you to feel good. I want to make love to you, Jack. Even if you can't ever do it for me. Even if it's not right now. I want you to feel my love."

Jack returned Mark's kisses, slow and deep and unspoken declarations of love between them. He rubbed his fingers against Mark's chest and kissed at the corner of his mouth. "I'm okay with that, Mark. With all of that. All of you. I love getting to do this. Getting to coax you through your fears, as you're ready to face them. I love making _you_ happy, love it when _you_ feel good. Don't ever..." Jack pressed his hand lightly against Mark's chest, leaning in to kiss him again. "Don't ever think you're not good enough for me, okay? Because I've seen you at your worst and I still love you."

Mark’s lips were wibbling from emotion but he resisted the light urge to cry. He was such a big baby sometimes. He always had to try and handle his feelings whenever Jack would get super sentimental like this; his fragile heart just couldn't take it. “Jack.”

His voice was weak and strained from his efforts as he released Jack’s hands to pull him into a tight hug. He promptly buried his face in green hair so he could kiss and gently nuzzle at Jack's head. "You're too damn good for me, you know that? How'd I ever get so lucky?" The only good thing to come of his kidnapping: realizing his feelings for his best friend. His arousal could wait because he was feeling sappy, goddamnit. “Hugs aren't gonna ruin our boners, are they?”

“God, I hope not." Jack melted against Mark, snuggling into Mark's chest and nuzzling at his neck. "I have _plans_ for our boners..." He practically interrupted himself with his giggle, shaking his head. “And by ‘plans,’ I just mean getting you shirtless and kissing my way down your chest. Kissing your nipples, like you told me you loved with so much passion in your voice…”

Mark shared in Jack's giggle, proving them both to be terribly immature about basically _anything_ sex related, then went a bit pink at the suggestion. His mind immediately conjured up thoughts about the scenario and how it would feel. He shivered; swallowed hard. "God yes we can do that. You wanna move the laptop so we don't accidentally kick it off the bed? I'll... strip." A thought occurred to him, and a mischievous glint entered his eyes as he disentangled their limbs to scoot further back towards the headboard.

At least they were equally immature. Jack stole one more kiss from Mark's lips. "The actors aren't nearly as hot as you anyway." He reached over to shut off the porn and closed the laptop. After leaning over the side of the bed to put it safely on the floor Jack turned back to Mark.

“Hey, that's my line." Mark fingered the hem of his shirt until he had Jack's attention back. The corner of his lips quirked into something a bit more inviting and alluring as he locked the Irishman with his gaze. Slowly, he peeled the material up to reveal his newly muscled chest inch by tantalizing inch. He arched his back to flex the abdominal muscles at the bottom; clearly showing off for his lover. This was _so much_ better than Jack popping his buttons one by one. Two could play the teasing game.

He took Jack's silence as a good thing and the view he had of the other's stunned expression was also encouraging. For the moment, he could be proud and flaunt his reclaimed musculature for Jack, instead of fretting over scars his lover had kissed countless times. Well, until he got caught up in his shirt. It became tangled around his shoulders, head and biceps and Mark paused. He wiggled a little, then paused again. Finally, there came a quiet, partially muffled plea. "...Jaaaack... I'm stuck....."

Jack remained silent for a beat longer, then started to snicker. "Oh my god you _nerd_." He moved to rescue Mark all the same, scooting up next to his side to help him.

Mark was definitely pouting behind his shirt. "Don't laugh at me! You were all ga-ga over it until I got stuck."

"I love you, goober. Don't ever get smooth." Jack leaned in to kiss Mark's lips as soon as he had Mark's head free, discarding the shirt over the side of the bed and placing one hand across Mark's bare chest.

Mark whined some more; stuck out lip becoming visible as the shirt was removed. His glasses were skewed and he wanted to counter the "goober" comment but was silenced by Jack's kiss. He settled with a soft, pleased hum. Taking just a second to fix his glasses with a knuckle, Mark lifted a hand to cup at Jack's cheek. He pulled his face closer, his body, leaning forwards into the fingers pressing against his chest. The light friction set him to shivering again; his breathing picked up a beat or two with subtle excitement.

"Oh trust me, I am still _very_ ga-ga over it," Jack purred, rubbing his fingers over Mark's skin before giving him a gentle push. "Lay back and let me love you? Goober?"

Mark's pout returned a little bit as his cheeks flushed a bright, cherry red. He took a second to stick out his tongue at Jack. "Takes a goober to love a goober, Mr. Booper Dooper. Ha." He smiled a bit to himself, proud, then scooted down so he could properly lean back until his head and shoulders met the pillow. "Slow. Right?" Mark's heart rate was already picking up, but it was a mix of arousal with his light anxiety. He kept his eyes on Jack; catching the baby blues, roving up and down his clothed body. He abruptly propped himself back up onto elbows. "C-can you maybe take your shirt off too??" It would put them on even ground, and give Mark a better distraction. A better reminder it was Jack next to him and not one of _them._

"Never said otherwise." Jack playfully nipped at Mark's tongue before sitting back to pull his shirt off. It knocked his own glasses askew, and he scrunched up his nose as he fixed them. "Remember, let me know if you need something to change. I won't get upset." Jack looked Mark over and licked his lips. He leaned in to catch Mark's lips first, his fingers tracing the line of Mark's beard, before he pulled away and began working himself down Mark's body. He kept his own body to the side, not straddling Mark.

Mark's heart fluttered in his chest at the sight Jack revealed for his eyes and his eyes alone. It didn't matter if other people had seen him shirtless, or even if ex-girlfriends had seen him intimately like this- they were the past. This was the now, and Jack from the now was _his_. Mark couldn't help himself. He reached out to trace fingertips down the naked torso with a quiet awe. "So pretty." He said the words with the same amount of reverence he'd used in his space sandbox video, shooting Jack a dopey smile. He nodded to show he was listening, and then the kisses started. Mark sighed into Jack's mouth, again into his hair as the Irishman worked his way down. He let his torso collapse languidly back onto the bed and tilted his head to give Jack better access to his neck. All the while the hand closest to Jack felt up and down the naked parts of his body; followed patterns now known to Mark, reminded him who was kissing him when the green sunk down out of his view. His toes curled a little. "Your beard tickles."

"I don't think you actually know what pretty means. I am a ruggedly handsome manly man down to my bones." Jack nipped lightly at Mark's throat with lips alone. His hands laid a path for his mouth, feeling out Mark's shoulders and chest, circling around dark nipples and tracing the lines of ribs and scars. Jack chuckled, lifting his head to rub his beard over Mark's collarbones. "So does yours, when you're doing this to me. It's _maddening_."

"Pretty." Mark repeated stubbornly. He was still smiling, though, and it held even as Jack rubbed him down with lips and hands; only became a bit distorted when his mouth opened for a low groan. One hand had hooked itself on the sharp jut of Jack's hip; the other fisted gently at their soft sheets. His chest rose semi-steadily with deep, slightly quickened breaths, then trembled with half-stifled giggles as Jack tormented him with his stubble. Mark squirmed and bumped his chin against the top of Jack's head. "Huhuhuh stoppit, stop, you're ruining the mood you little Irish douche." Mark tilted his head forward to stare Jack down over the rims of his glasses. "My stubble's better. Just admit it."

"Am I, though?" Jack asked, following the scrape of stubble with a kitten flick of his tongue. "Is it? Should I shave? Go all baby-face on you? Make you feel like you're robbing the cradle when I do this to ya?" He closed his mouth over one of Mark's nipples.

"Yes." Mark answered without hesitation, his voice a little breathy from Jack's teasing. He shook his head and tightened his grip on pale skin. "Jesus, no. God. Fuck, Jack, baby you is adorable okay but the stubble ho _ohfuck_." Mark cried out; the words devolving into a soft whine. His chest wiggled a bit beneath Jack's mouth and he dug his heels into the bed. Panting, Mark forced himself to lift his head so he could see Jack, so his brain could be reassured it was him and not _them_. He groaned low at the sight. "So pretty."

"Tell me I'm handsome, Mark..." Jack circled his tongue around Mark's nipple, turning a wickedly teasing grin up at him. "Tell me I'm the rugged, manliest man you ever did see, excepting when you look in a mirror." He leaned in close, flicking his tongue over the the little bud of flesh, teasing Mark relentlessly.

“Nnghhnnn- y-you're handsome, Jack. Y-you are. I just… I think you're pretty. Too.” Mark groaned, lightly kicking his feet and tossing his head. Jack’s tongue felt really good and his stubble was _still_ ticklish. Breathing hard, Mark licked at his lips and tried not to acknowledge how erect he was becoming in his pants. “You're the manliest man ever, Jack, now stop teasing me! I'm gonna lose my mind over here. You _know_ I'm sensitive.” He whined and gently massaged his hand up Jack’s exposed side, trying to coax him with more than words alone.

“Good enough,” Jack decided, blowing on the wet flesh before sealing his mouth over it again, practically making out with Mark’s chest. He dragged his other hand over to find Mark’s neglected nipple, mimicking the movements of his tongue with his fingers. He murmured against Mark’s skin, his flush becoming about ten shades darker as he whined, pressing his tongue to Mark’s nipple.

Mark had yipped from the brief blast of cold, squeezing at Jack’s side hard enough to possibly bruise the skin. He shivered as Jack’s mouth went back to work immediately after. “Jack… Jack, fuck, you and your stupid- ah!! Shit! That's cheating, Jack, that's… hnnnghhh….” He whimpered when Jack’s hand joined the fray. His back arched up into the contact, hips following eagerly. His pants were definitely tight in the crotch area now as he released a soft moan and the noises Jack was making didn't help at all. “Jack….” Mark huffed hotly, skittering his fingers up the knobby spine until they could tickle at the back of Jack’s neck. He let the digits slide naturally up into the sensitive hairs on the back of Jack’s scalp so he could cradle his head while he worked at Mark’s chest. He groaned again, and his free hand began twitching lower towards a certain neglected body part.

Jack shivered and groaned as Mark gripped his head; light pulls on the short brown hair at the nape of his neck. He reached over to catch Mark’s descending hand, squeezing his fingers gently and pulling away from Mark’s chest. “Mark...Mark, can I...can I?”

Mark startled a bit hard when he was grabbed. Crimson flushed into his cheeks and trickled down his neck with embarrassment at being caught. He drew several deep breaths and stared at Jack; wide-eyed. Were it not for the gentle grip and Jack’s defining features, he might have started to panic. He'd been punished in the past for trying to pleasure himself (after they'd fed him drugs to get him aroused, the bastards) but Jack wasn't upset. Jack sounded eager and breathless; near to _pleading_ with Mark and he was a little stunned. His gaze dropped down to the bulge in his pants, then trailed back up to Jack with a nervous swallow. He didn't have pants in the room, maybe it wouldn't do anything. “...y-you can try. Just… careful, please. I… I don't know how I'll react….” Jack had never touched Mark in that spot before now. It would be a completely new experience for both of them.

Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers again, wiggling up until he was beside him. He leaned in to kiss Mark, pressing their mouths together over and over as he laced his fingers through Mark’s. With their hands still entwined, Jack reached down between Mark’s legs.

The kisses helped Mark to relax a little. Jack sucked bits of tension from him with each brush of lips and he sighed. Kisses distracted him from the wandering hands. Each brush of fingers gluing him to Jack and this moment, dragging him back every time _they_ dug their terrible fingers into his perception of reality. A fluttery breath slipped from his mouth as he sensed their hands hovering. Not quite touching, but close enough to be “felt”. He looked down at their fingers and swallowed hard. This was fine. This was his hand touching him. There were no cameras; no leering eyes.

Jack kissed the corner of Mark’s mouth, his cheek, his ear. “Show me how you like it?” he asked. He pulled his fingers free but pressed his whole hand up against Mark’s, letting him guide his touch.

Jack was patiently waiting there, wanting Mark to teach him, wanting to learn and not just humiliate- for Mark’s sake. It couldn’t get more opposite from _their_ treatment and his breath stuttered again. It hiccuped harder in his chest as he pressed down and Mark’s groan hitched up into his nose as he shivered. He mouthed a curse but no sound fueled the word. Slowly, he ground down, dragging Jack’s hand along the line of his erection. They followed the bump from end to end, up and down, gradually increasing speed and pressure. At one point, he coaxed Jack’s hand to give the roundness a light squeeze that left his eyelashes fluttering as stars danced behind his eyelids. His hips inched up towards their joined hands; groan a low, deep rumble in his chest.

“Oh fuck, Mark…” Jack gave a throaty moan of his own.

Mark was so easily overwhelmed now when it came to sexual activities. Between the layered hands gripping and sliding along his cock and Jack’s soft, eager noises he was rapidly reaching that point again but he forced himself to gulp down sufficient breaths. They were erratic, but he just needed to get enough oxygen. He kept his eyes drifting between Jack’s face and their intertwined hands no matter how much he wanted to squeeze them shut; he couldn’t risk it. Not when things were going so well, when they were making such good progress. He let out a soft little moan when their hands squeezed close to his tip. “Love you... Love you so much, Jack, haa… a-aahh, fuck, Jaa-aack….”

“Fuck, I love you. I’m...I’m so proud of you, Mark, you feel so good like this, I, mm, I wasn’t sure if you were ready and I...I really want to kiss you… _here._ ” Their joined hands stroked up the length of Mark’s cock again. “Like… like we were talking about earlier…”

The sudden stroke, not directed by Mark himself, summoned up a strong whimper of his lover’s name. Mark’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment as he tried to keep his head on straight- one of them, at least. His hips pressed up, seeking more friction, more pressure, more _anything_ as his eyes snapped back open. His breath shuddered, his body shuddered. It was hard to wrap his brain around just what Jack was _offering._ It was astounding. The thoughts alone that came to mind had him moaning again. “Jack… Jack, fuck, you… y-you… I….” Mark whined because using his words was hard (not the only hard thing at the moment). “...you can try. You can. I-I… I trust you. _I do._ ” He’d never been sucked off in the room. Why would they bother? _They_ wanted pleasure. They only ever touched his dick with their hands: purposefully, pointedly, to arouse and humiliate him.

Jack whined, leaning in to kiss Mark deeply, moving his hand over Mark’s dick and Mark’s nerves were soothed. Jack’s lips always grounded him; brought him back to the safety of the here and now. He gently sucked and bit at those lips with a hunger that went deeper than arousal or attraction and eagerly met the motions of Jack’s tongue. Silently, he expressed gratitude for the supposedly fragile masculinities of his kidnappers. They never kissed him- not once. Not even to make him uncomfortable. (But apparently fucking his ass was somehow less homosexual of an act. Incredible, truly.) Jack’s kiss simultaneously riled up the best parts of Mark while settling the worst.

Jack seized control again, though, slowing their combined touch, dragging his fingers up the side of the bulge with a maddening pace. Just like before, Jack broke away from Mark’s lips, trailing kisses down his neck and chest, working his way to their joined hands. “Stop me if you need to,” he murmured against the skin of Mark’s abs, tracing his tongue across the muscle starting to reform. “I won’t get upset.” His lips brushed the waist of Mark’s sweats and he lifted his eyes to make contact with Mark’s. “ _Promise._ ” Then he slid their hands down to the base of Mark’s cock, pressing a kiss to the top of his hard bulge.

Every moment Jack chose to act on his own was like a shot of adrenaline for Mark. Pleasant shivers started in his groin to curve under and up, clambering along his vertebrae. The sensation curled at the base of his scalp and sunk its fingers in. A breathy moan that was initially stifled became all too loud as Jack broke their kiss. Each little press of moist lips to his heated skin drew a fresh sound from Mark; made his muscles twitch and rise in their wake. His abdomen clenched as he nodded tightly. Currently, he was more worried about upsetting himself, but Jack was right to reassure Mark. He didn’t want to disappoint the other either.

Briefly, their eyes met again, and he didn’t need to _hear_ Jack say the word to feel the sincerity in it. Blue eyes spoke enough all on their own and a blink later, lips followed them. Mark had no idea how he could tell the difference, but he _knew._ He knew it wasn’t another hand touching the swollen tip of his dick through two layers of clothing. He could feel the breath from Jack’s nose skittering along the skin just above his waistband and he choked softly. The hand caught up in Jack’s trembled; the other twitched feather light touches over Jack’s hip. “Jack….” The name was a soft little gasp.

“Okay?” Jack asked, pressing kisses slowly down the length of Mark’s erection. He pushed down harder, parting his lips to mouth at Mark’s shaft, squeezing the base gently. “Still good?” The words were mouthed against Mark’s dick, followed by a press of Jack’s tongue, though Mark could only feel the pressure and not the wetness.

“Mmhmm.” Mark practically whimpered. He nodded his head again too, in case the sound wouldn’t be convincing enough. It was just warm pressure against his dick. Not too different from hands and fingers, but still _different_ somehow and he moaned. He was trying to piece Jack’s movements together with the naked dick in his mind’s eye: how it would look, what it might feel like. The thoughts had him squirming beneath Jack’s mouth. A whine built up and bubbled at the back of his throat almost painfully. Looking down, he could _see_ Jack’s tongue, but he couldn’t feel it. Something about that was _maddening._ “Yes. Yes. Jack. _Jack._ I want- I n-need- _fuck,_ wh-why is this so hard??” Old him would have made a joke there and laughed it off. Shucked his pants like it was nothing and let Jack go to town like they both wanted so desperately but he was _scared._ He was so, so scared the second his pants came off, when his underwear came off, he’d lose sight of Jack. He’d lose this moment, and fall into one he’d rather forget.

“What do you need?” Jack asked, pulling away just enough so his words weren’t muffled, but then he was right back down on Mark’s bulge. He mouthed over the head of Mark’s cock again, closing his eyes and moaning softly. “Tell me...?” He squeezed lightly at the base of Mark’s shaft again, then gave it a little rub.

 _“You.”_ The word fell fast and easy from Mark’s lips, and it was _true,_ but also far too vague. Obviously Mark wanted Jack. His lover needed _details,_ but the details were what scared Mark. God, if Jack wasn’t making him forget the fear existed, though. Jack was wiping away any thoughts Mark might be having besides how good his mouth felt down there; how much he wanted to rip his pants off and feel that tongue for real. Jack’s moan tingled along the length of his dick and he gave a loud gasp. His hips bucked sharply upwards, then wriggled at the squeeze of Jack’s hand. He was going to go _crazy_ if he tried to stay in his pants any longer. He _needed_ Jack; needed that mouth on his skin again. _Now._ ** _Right now._** “Pl-please fucking touch me, touch me there, oh god… Jack… J-Jack, please, p-pants… down, pull them down, I… I want… I w-wanna try. I want to. Please. Fuck, Jack, _please do that again.”_ Maybe, if he left the pants around his knees or something, it would help. Maybe if he left his underwear on. A mouth wasn’t a hand; a tongue wasn’t fingers. His nails dug into Jack’s wrist and hip, respectively. _Pleadingly._

“ _Mark…_ ” Jack’s groan was muffled against Mark’s dick while he shifted on the bed, spreading his own legs a bit wider. He pulled himself off Mark’s dick, but only long enough to pluck the drawstring of Mark’s pants loose. He looked up Mark’s body, then licked his lips and whispered “I fucking love you _so much_ ” as he hooked his fingers in the waist of Mark’s sweatpants.

“Jack-” It was those vibrations driving Mark so wild. The heat and pressure did wonders but fingers and hands couldn’t imitate the subtle sensation. Coupled with the muffled sounds it was purely debilitating in the best possible way. When Jack’s mouth left him, he immediately felt the absence. Jack’s saliva still soaked into his pants called up a chill in the open air that left him shivering. “Jack… please….” He blinked down at his lover, pupils blown wide with lust and breath hitching in his eagerness. “I love you too, please, god, fuck please Jack… nnngh….” A quiet whine was triggered as the material of his sweats scraped down past his bulge. He sunk incisors into his bottom lip and forced himself to watch as Jack slowly drew Mark’s sweats down his hips, not bringing Mark’s underwear with them.

Jack closed his mouth over the tip of Mark’s cock again, so much more obvious against just the thin cotton of his underwear and Jack _moaned_ , pressing his tongue against the swell of Mark’s head.

Mark was in his underwear in front of Jack. He was in his underwear, sporting a massive erection and near completely exposed- in front of Jack. ‘ _Only_ _Jack,’_ he repeated over and over again in his mind. There were no other people; no cameras. Just the two of them and Jack only giving Mark what he asked for- what he wanted. If he told Jack to stop, Jack would, and that meant the absolute _world_ to Mark as he whimpered softly. His hand had given up on directing Jack’s. Instead, it traced fingernails through brown sideburns when the Irishman leaned in. The digits tucked behind Jack’s ear and pressed in as that warm heat graciously returned to his cock and he gasped.

Jack shivered, groaning deeply around the hardness in his mouth. His tongue pressed against the tip, teasing it like he had been doing to Mark’s nipple earlier and Mark’s underwear was quickly growing soaked through from Jack’s mouth.

“ _Fuck,_ Jack.” Mark could feel so much more without the restriction of his pants. Every squeeze of Jack’s fingers, every heavy brush of his tongue and how a throaty moan reverberated mind-bendingly over the head of his clothed cock. The combination sent him reeling and he couldn’t keep his head up to watch anymore. Mark had to let it fall back or he’d surely break his neck. He moaned, pitched and nasally at the very back of his throat and he dislodged his free hand from the sheets to seek out Jack’s instead; the one not on his dick. Mark wanted- _needed-_ to better hold on to Jack. He wanted to establish that tactile connection again. “Jack, Jack, _please-_ your hand, I need....”

Jack groaned again, and he attempted taking a little more in. He reached for Mark’s hand, seizing it and lacing their fingers together, clinging to him even as he moved his other hand, squeezing and dragging his grip up Mark’s shaft.

God, if only Jack would never stop groaning, Mark would be the happiest man alive. The fact he could _feel_ every ounce of suction and every devilish act of Jack’s tongue was mindblowing. He might as well be naked. No man had _ever_ touched him like this before and it felt _so good_ to acknowledge that after his kidnappers had done everything within their power to taint every inch of him possible. This was uncharted territory. This was _Jack’s_ territory. Something they could both claim, all on their own, and fuck Mark if he was going to get so sappy while sporting the hardest damn erection of his life. His breath wavered on a sob and he tried pushing his thoughts into a less emotional direction. One more concentrated on the things Jack was doing to his dick, _Jesus Christ._ “Jack.”

He didn’t know what to say; how he could possibly praise his lover. He just kept saying his name because he _knew_ Jack liked to hear it. He was rewarded with the friction of their connecting palms and the squeeze of interlocked fingers. A shade of clarity returned to him as he was grounded back to reality again, and he _breathed._ “Jack- Jack, fuck, please don’t stop. _Please._ Oh god… oh crap… fuck, fuck, I don’t- I d-don’t know how long, I… _Jack…._ ” Mark’s hips rocked up and forwards into the sudden grind of Jack’s hand; sought out Jack’s lips and tongue. He wanted more, so much more, but he was already balancing on a precipice and didn’t dare toe any further just yet. This would have to be enough, for them both. “Jack, god, your mouth…. ahhhh…!”

Jack moaned and Mark keened in a gentle crescendo as Jack licked up the entirety of his length. His body followed the movement and sound in a rolling arch that made his muscles flex stunningly while his toes curled.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jack said, his own voice rasping in his throat. “Whenever you’re ready, let go…”

“Jack….” It was a whine, fluttering in his chest alongside his breath as Jack smattered his dick with kisses. Then gentleness shifted back into something more eager and carnal. Jack’s desperation for Mark’s cock could be felt from the powerful suction his mouth. His urge to get Mark off was in every strong grind of his palm across wet cotton. Jack was doing this for _him,_ but he was getting off on it too. Mark could feel the bed rock every time Jack thrust into empty air and he wanted to help his lover but it was too much; he didn’t dare.

Silently, he promised he would try next time, for Jack’s sake. This time, he wasn’t able to last long enough. With Jack’s consent and the Irishman’s sheer will to drag Mark’s orgasm out of him, he came hard and fast in his underwear. He cried out, loud and unhindered, while he thrashed lightly with spasming muscles. His dick jumped and twitched where it strained against the fabric; pulsating. Mark could feel the results pooling around his crotch but decided he could feel grossed out by it later. Right now he was rolling hips through the descending waves of his climax with a steady arrangement of moans. Jack’s name was uttered several times between heaving breaths and he squeezed the hand holding his own with all the strength he had. Sweat glistened on his skin as he collapsed against the mattress.

Jack was practically licking Mark’s release up through his underwear. His hand slowed as Mark rolled his hips, milking the last of his climax out of him, not pulling away until Mark had sagged beneath him. With one last kittenish lick to the tip of Mark’s dick, Jack pulled his mouth off of Mark, shifting away a few inches but still clinging to Mark’s hand. He now had a free hand of his own though, and it was immediately drawn to his own dick, pressing through his pants and palming his erection. “Mark…” Jack gasped, moaning and stroking his dick.

Mark, sated and subdued, felt quite content to lay there in a splayed, boneless stretch of limbs. The wet stickiness in his underwear had yet to get under his skin so he was free to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling filling up his body from head to toe, tingling along nerve endings and pooling in his joints to make his movements sluggish. He shifted some, the fingers of his free hand skirting along the blanket, then let his head loll to the side. Brown eyes fully took in the sight of Jack on his knees; gorgeous, lovely, beautiful. Mark had no clue how Jack always managed to look so stunning when aroused.

A red flush crawled across swaths of pale skin and bits of freckles stood out alongside gooseflesh. Lean muscles heaved and shimmered beneath a sheen of sweat. Jack’s green hair was mussed up beyond repair and his blue eyes were clouded thick with lust. Jack’s mouth hung open as he moaned and palmed himself through his underwear. Mark didn’t realize he was drooling until he felt the trickle on his cheek and turned a little pink himself in embarrassment, but the realization gave him an idea. It was something he remembered doing; something his kidnappers had really seemed to enjoy. He could probably do it on muscle memory alone.

So long as he kept watching Jack it would be fine, right? Right. That was how Mark reassured himself as he pulled their clasped hands closer. He gave Jack’s a squeeze; dazed smile playing at his lips. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes conveyed the message: _trust me, okay, I want to try this._ Hopefully Jack would understand. He brought their interlocked fingers up to his mouth so he could kiss gently at Jack’s knuckles. Slowly, he loosened his grip until he could curl his lips around one of Jack’s individual fingers and nibbled like that, with the suction of his lips alone, then slid up to the tip. Mark’s heavily lidded eyes had been watching the digits until that point. Now, as he let the finger slide into his mouth and over his tongue, he raised brown eyes to look at Jack through his thin lashes. It was different, from theirs: thinner and knobbier. He sucked softly at the skin while he gently kept Jack’s hand elevated with both of his own.

Jack was moaning his name. Jack came in his pants- again. Mark must be doing _something_ right. Maybe the whole “sucking on fingers” thing was universally arousing- or maybe it just applied to men. Mark wouldn’t really know. At least it was easier than he expected. Mark was so caught up in Jack, Jack, _everything_ about Jack that no one else even had a chance to enter his mind. The finger in his mouth was so _different_ from theirs. The sounds Jack made, how he moaned his name, how he never once removed his dick from his underwear kept a firm line drawn between past and present and it was good. Mark thought they’d finally done really, _really_ good.

Then Jack was ripping his hand away from Mark’s mouth as if he’d just bit him. The knuckle caught on his tooth during the retreat and he hoped he hadn’t torn the skin open, though he was mostly in shock. All of a sudden, Jack was pulling away from him. Jack wasn’t touching him. The Irishman was trembling again but clearly not from desperation or arousal. It was hard to tell- especially when Jack flopped over onto his side- but it looked like blue eyes were wide with their own shock. As if something had abruptly startled and severely shaken his boyfriend and Mark was confused.

“Jack??” He forced himself up onto elbows even as his body urged him to just lay there for a much deserved nap. Concern for Jack took precedence over a majority of his wants and needs, and something was seriously wrong with Jack. “Jack. Jack? Sean. Sean, talk to me. What happened? What’s wrong?? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?” There was a growing edge of anxiety filtering into Mark’s voice as he sat up further and hunched his back to lean over Jack’s curled up form on the bed. One hand came up to hover over the fair skin, but hesitated to actually touch. Mark recognized Jack’s body language. He noticed all the signs, because he’d experienced every single one himself.

Something triggered Jack. ‘ _Shit.’_ It was a rare occurrence for sure, but when it happened Mark always felt like his whole world had been turned onto its head. Jack deserved these moments as much as he did, in his honest opinion, but he was just so used to their roles being a certain way. He frowned and furrowed his brows while he scoured his post-orgasm haze of a thought process for anything that might have set Jack off. It couldn’t be cumming in front of Mark, he’d done that before. Mark was the most naked he’d ever been, but Jack would have reacted a lot sooner to that. The only other thing Mark had been doing when Jack changed his attitude was…

“Jesus fuck I’m an idiot.” The finger sucking. Mark hadn’t been triggered by it, but Jack must have. Was it because of the things he’d seen? Was he comparing himself to _them_ again, because of all the sexual activity? Mark couldn’t think of anything else. He called up to memory a Skype conversation he’d had with Tom long after the older man had returned to the States while he finally forced himself to gently brush fingers along Jack’s bicep. Tom had known. He _had._ Mark couldn’t even hide it once he started officially dating Jack. Tom was grateful and smug but he hadn’t forgotten his own conversation with Jack.

 _‘He’s worried he might be giving you Stockholm Syndrome or something. He’s scared to death about taking things too far with you and being like_ **_them,_ ** _Mark. You need to reassure him he’s not.’_

 _‘But why would he even think that? He knows I love him. He knows I want to make him happy._ **_They_ ** _didn’t have that.’_

_‘I don’t know, Mark, but you’d better keep a close eye on your new boyfriend. Now that you two are finally together I’d better not hear you both blew it on a little failed communication.’_

Mark knew Tom was just concerned for him. Everything his brother had said was perfectly valid and even Dan had mentioned it, when he’d visited them. The situation was different then. Mark hadn’t acknowledged Jack and himself shared feelings for each other but now, sitting in bed together like this, half-naked and recovering from their respective orgasms- orgasms caused by _each other-_ he could view the problem in a better light. Jack was just as cautious and scared to further the sexual aspect of their relationship as he was. The cause was the same; the issues were different. Mark still had to try and help Jack. “Sean. Sean, can you look at me? At _me,_ at my face, can you do that? Can you breathe for me, Sean? You know. You’ve told me how thousands of times. We can try together, if you want.”

“...don’t…” Jack flinched away from Mark’s touch, curling up tighter. He drew his arms into his chest, fingers clenched into fists. He squeezed his eyes shut, ducked his head, and clearly tried to make himself as small as possible while he squirmed slightly.

“Sorry, sorry, fuck I’m so not good at this….” Mark muttered the second half more to himself than anything. Of course Jack didn’t want to be touched. _He_ didn’t want to be touched when he’d been triggered. ‘ _Stupid, stupid, stupid.’_ He forced his hands to curl into fists in his lap. How Jack managed to hold himself back, each and every time, Mark would never know. Just this one moment of being unable to initiate physical contact practically _hurt._ He watched Jack with sadness in his eyes and an ache in his chest. Jack was so damn _strong._ “Sean….”

His words weren’t working. Jack’s didn’t either, sometimes. What could he do? What would _Jack_ usually do? He chewed at his bottom lip and rapped knuckles against his skin. Not touching, never touching; just the offer to touch. Mark drew a deep breath and extended his hands. This was normal, he’d done it before. He turned them over to expose the vulnerable undersides of his wrists and flattened out his palms for Jack. He didn’t move his body any closer, though. Mark would have shied away from that and Jack was too. What else?

Talking. Jack would talk and talk about absolute _nonsense,_ going so far as to sing sometimes. He’d thicken up his accent, but Mark didn’t have one. He didn’t know enough Korean and couldn’t wrap his tongue around the words of the lullabies Jack would sing for him. He didn’t know any Irish, either, but he could sing normal songs, and he could ramble for hours. His fingertips twitched as he closed his eyes and ducked his head. Mark always felt embarrassed for Jack to see him in his triggered state so maybe it would help Jack if he stopped watching. “So uh. That was pretty amazing, Sean. What we just did. I didn’t… I didn’t think I’d be able to do it, or get through it. But something about _you,_ about it being _your_ mouth on me just pushed me through. You were so patient and good to me, Sean. You did everything I asked you to…. It was incredible. It _felt_ incredible. One of the best fucking orgasms of my life and _you_ gave it to me, because you _wanted_ to. You wanted to make me feel good. And you did. And… and I wanted to make you feel good too. Not because I had to. Because I _wanted_ to….” Was this even helping? Mark hoped so.

He… thought it was working? Maybe? He’d risked a peek or two, unable to help himself. Jack hadn’t moved much from the position Mark left him in, but his back wasn’t rising and falling so fast. His eyes were open but the tension was still there and Jack hadn’t made a move to acknowledge Mark at all. It almost hurt. Then it _did_ hurt when he realized Jack had been through the same thing dozens of times before. Sometimes it took Mark forever and a day to acknowledge his boyfriend. He _really_ hoped this wouldn’t take that long.

However, the talking was doing _something_ and Jack had stopped trying to wriggle away. Mark licked his lips and wondered if any of the subject matter was even being registered. He doubted it. Maybe singing would promote more of a response? Mark scratched his brain for a song and let his hands rest where he’d dropped them, just in case Jack changed his mind.

On a whim, his voice rolled into the familiar lyrics of an old song. It wasn’t some pop tune or a lullaby. But it was near and dear to Mark, whom had spent countless hours memorizing every cadence and nuance. It was unfortunate they didn’t have a tutu. _“Chapter fifty-four, page one-hundred and five: create a hellhound antidote and keep your victim alive…”_ It was a silly, _stupid_ song he’d barely even had lines for (technically, he was singing Enis’ part) but that was the point. It was funny and nonsensical and it didn’t matter, because Jack wasn’t listening for substance. He was listening for Mark’s voice. So he sang the song at an admittedly slower tempo and lower tone than the original. Hands outstretched, he prayed for some kind of positive reaction. Even if it was Jack sitting up to laugh in his face and call him an idiot.

“...sorry.”

Mark was about finished with the song when he felt Jack’s warm, calloused fingers touch his own. He startled, just a little bit, and immediately opened his eyes with rekindled hopes. Jack’s eyes were partially open again themselves- that had to be good, right? Plus he was touching Mark. It was amazing, how such a minor sensation could trigger immense warmth and relief to blossom within his chest. Was this how Jack felt when Mark would finally touch his hand? It must be a thousand times better because Mark almost never came out of his attacks this quickly. Yet again, he found himself astounded by Jack’s sheer mental strength and willpower. He wasn’t sure he could manage doing this over and over, possibly several times a day, without having a breakdown of his own.

His next exhale shuddered from his lungs with a weak smile. Mark wanted to grasp at Jack’s hand and squeeze it, but he forced himself to merely curl his fingers the way he recalled Jack always doing. He returned the barest of touches and gave Jack the option, the choice; complete rein over what happened next. _Voluntarily._ Not like when he was in the room. It was freeing for Mark in its own special way. “Don’t be sorry. You can’t control it any better than I can. _I’m_ sorry I made you think of them. Of any of that. It’s the last thing I wanted, we were doing so well….” He shook his head. “We _are_ doing well. Jack… do you want to talk about it?”

“...no, it's not…” Jack closed his eyes again, squeezed Mark's hand gently, and then pulled away from Mark's touch. He pushed himself up until he was sitting, curling away from Mark, his arms wrapped around his waist.

Mark’s brow furrowed with confusion. “It’s not… what? Jack?” The squeeze wasn’t much comfort when the contact didn’t last. Jack distanced himself further from Mark. He tried not to feel too upset since he’d done the same to Jack hundreds of times, but it still hurt. He couldn’t stop that.

“It wasn't you, Mark. It was me, all me. I…” Jack glanced at Mark and then looked away again with a shudder. “You shouldn't let me… I'm sorry.”

“Jack…. Jack, I wouldn’t let you if I didn’t want to. Maybe… maybe before, at first. When we started. But we worked through that. _You_ helped me through that. I… I try, _really hard,_ not to do things just because it’s what you want. I do.” Jack _was_ thinking he’d been taking advantage of Mark. He was kicking himself over what they’d just done.

He shook his head again. “Jack. Jack, _don’t_ be ashamed of what we just did. Please. It wasn’t just sex and you know it- it wasn’t _even sex._ We just… we were showing how much we loved each other.” Mark winced internally because even _he_ wasn’t buying his explanation, and it was his own beliefs. He really sucked at this. Trying to comfort a direct issue was so much harder than generalizing like he used to on his videos. He didn’t reach for Jack, but he kept himself open. “You didn’t make me do _anything._ You didn’t force yourself on me. I would have stopped you. I would’ve slowed us down. _I’m_ the one that put your finger in my mouth, Jack.” It sounded so weird to address the act like that. “Because I wanted to. I couldn’t touch you, so I tried something else. I didn’t have to. Nothing was motivating me like it did with them. It wouldn’t get me anything, but to help you. And it did.”

“You want to make me happy,” Jack said dully. “You do these things because you want to please me. Like you'd do for _them_ , so you wouldn't get hurt. And don't...it's not different, not really. I won't hurt you if you don't, but it's not like…”

“Of course I want to make you happy! Jack, I wanted to make you happy even _before_ I got kidnapped. Because you were my friend. One of my _best friends._ And…” There was more, there was _always_ more, but Mark had been too thick-headed to acknowledge it and now Jack wouldn’t believe him if he claimed that. He’d probably think he was making it up. Mark scrambled with his words and thoughts, trying to think of how he could possibly explain. They should have confronted this issue sooner. Mark hadn’t taken it seriously enough.

His hands ended up leaving the bed to gesture a bit as he was wont to do when trying to convey an important message, as if he could physically detangle his own batshit insane thought process to form something coherent. He wasn’t really looking at Jack anymore; just letting his gaze flit around while he dragged fingers anxiously through his hair. “It _is_ different, Jack. _It is._ You’re right. I always tried to make them happy, because I knew the consequences of not. I knew if they were happy they’d go easier on me. But I don’t _have_ those motivations with you. I _don’t need to make you happy._ Hell, you would have _been_ happy even if I didn’t suck on your finger. Right? You would. You _were._ Nothing and no one is making me do any of this but _me,_ Jack. Because I love you. Because I want you. Not because _you_ want _me._ ** _I want you._** And not anyone else.”

Jack leaned over and for a moment, Mark thought Jack might be trying to get close again. Maybe even ask him for a hug. Instead, Jack’s fingers traced two of his scars.

_S.M._

The fingers on _that_ part of his back were a rude wakeup call and Mark shuddered on reflex. Emotional pain and heartbreak flickered through his expression. “You're mine,” Jack said, quiet and defeated. “They gave you to me, whether I wanted you or not. Whether _you_ wanted it or not. They took away any choice you had, and it doesn't matter, it _doesn't matter_ , because for the rest of your _life_ you're gonna have this, and you're just...you're just…”

Jack pulled his hand back, wrapping his arm around his waist again, looking away from Mark. “They put me on their level when they did that,” Jack whispered. “And I can't...I can't change that.”

Mark _hated_ them. He hated them for dragging Jack so blatantly into this mess; into _Mark’s_ mess. Jack shouldn’t ever have the passing thought of being remotely _near_ their level of low. A bubble formed in his chest, and it was rising up his throat before he could stop it. Before he could even comprehend what it meant, until it popped free from his mouth: “No.”

He almost surprised himself with the stern assertiveness in his tone, but he continued. It was like the bubble had been blocking an entire torrent of words which now came spilling out as a metaphorical waterfall. “No, Jack. I’m _not_ yours.” It was gut-wrenching to say aloud- _no,_ not gut-wrenching, **_soul-wrenching._** It felt as if the waterfall was tearing up his insides as it churned out in a primordial, discordant ooze. “I’m not _anyone’s._ I-I don’t care, what they said. Or what they did. I’m _not._ I’m a person. I’m a _person_ Jack and you _can’t own people._ No matter what anyone says or does. I don’t belong to anyone but me. _I don’t._ ” Mark drew a tight breath and prayed to god Jack wasn’t taking his words the wrong way. He wasn’t accusing Jack; he was stating facts.

He was saying things he’d been too pessimistic or terrified to admit prior and it hurt. Yet it felt good too, so he kept going. “It _does_ matter. It matters what I think, even more than it matters what _you_ think. What doesn’t matter is what _they_ did. So they ‘gave’ me to you? So what? You don’t own me like a present. I’m not an object. I’m _me._ If I say those fucking letters don’t mean _shit,_ then they don’t. You know what else ‘S’ and ‘M’ stand for, Jack? Anything!! You know the only thing connecting them to you; to you _owning me?_ Them. And _us_ letting them control what we think and I am just _so_ ** _sick of it,_** Jack. I’m sick of being stuck in _their_ mindset, the mindset _they_ gave us, it’s been nearly a year Jack and we’re _still letting them control us._ We’re letting them take something that’s supposed to be _pure_ and **_ours_** and twist it into something horrible. They have you thinking you’re just like **_them._** You, Jack. The main fucking reason I’m even still alive right now and healing and better and happy and and and- _fuck._ ”

Mark cursed under his breath when he felt a tear roll down his cheek. No, no no, he couldn’t cry right now. Jack _needed_ him to be strong now but another tear fell, and another, and no amount of scrubbing slowed their descent. He was just too emotional because he wanted Jack to believe him _so badly,_ to understand this was all _their_ thinking. They didn’t have to follow _any of it._ Mark sniffled and rubbed at his face while he muttered more swears, “Damn it, god d-damn it….” He needed a hug. He really _wanted_ a hug. Wibbling with big, watery brown eyes Mark made a little gesture with his wet hands and arms. It was a shy, hopeful request, because he was too nervous to initiate a hug with Jack after everything. ‘ _Please come over here._ ** _Please.’_**

Jack closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Mark and holding him tight. “I love you,” Jack whispered above Mark's ear. “I love you, I've loved you as long as I've _known_ you, and I want...I want…” He sniffed as well. “I want you to love me too. Not because I’ve helped you heal or kept you alive or _anything_ because of...because of _them_. I just…” He pressed his nose to Mark's ear. “I don't want to use you. For anything. You're too special for that.”

Mark collapsed into Jack’s arms with a relief that transcended emotions alone. He hadn’t realized just how _terribly_ his body had been craving Jack’s touch until it finally got what it wanted and he burrowed into Jack’s embrace deep as was physically possible. He let his hands and arms get squished up between their chests because it felt more solid that way, and he was able to bury himself in Jack without having to worry about where he could place his limbs. Mark pressed his face into the bare skin of Jack’s shoulder with a muttered apology, even if Jack was used to getting soaked with tears and snot by now. “I love you too.”

They were both still half-naked and wearing their disgusting underwear and Mark’s glasses were digging into his face, but he didn’t care. Jack was holding him, and talking to him, and Mark was bleeding on the inside but the hole was already scabbing over with every Irish-tinted word. “You’re not using me. I promise. You are _nothing_ like them. E-even if I’d let you do that to me, I wouldn’t let you do it to yourself. I wouldn’t. Because I love you, I love you, _I do._ It took me forever and a day to give it a name but I do love you, Jack, it was always there I was just too st-stupid to realize and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, if I hadn’t been such a doofus we wouldn’t even h-have this worry….” Not entirely true, and if they’d been in a relationship first the incident could have ruined it. Dan and Phil had pulled themselves back together. Could Jack and Mark have done the same? At least, like this, they could start fresh with nothing concrete tainted. Still, part of him regretted glossing over feelings which were now obvious. “I love you so much, please, don’t let anyone change that from what it is….”

Jack shook his head and pulled Mark even closer, onto his thighs. Luckily, he was still wearing his pyjama pants. “You promise?” Jack asked. “You promise you won't...you won't let me hurt you? Use you? No matter how much...how much _I_ want it?”

Jack had promised this to Mark, weeks back, the first time Mark showed him his scars- _that_ scar. Jack had promised Mark back then, and the promise had only gone one way but Mark was already so much stronger than he was back then, both mentally and emotionally. He could return the promise; he could hold Jack off.

Mark bent his knees so he could curl up on Jack’s lap. It probably looked silly, what with Mark being the bigger of the two, but no one was there to see. It was just Jack and himself in the bedroom, holding each other tight and proving to each other the Ship Sinker had no hold over their lives or their relationship. (Or their love, but that one sounded kind of cheesy.) All of Mark’s senses were full of Jack, Jack, _Jack_ and he’d never felt so secure.

“I promise.” Mark didn’t pause or hesitate; didn’t even stop to ponder why Jack would ask. He pressed his mouth to the junction of Jack’s neck and shoulder and just kept it there for a few moments. He tasted the skin, breathing Jack in and confirming this man was everything he wanted and more. “If you hurt me, I’ll retaliate. If you try to use me, I’ll push you away. I don’t care if you beg, if… if I don’t want to, I won’t. I won’t.” Mark kissed Jack’s skin again, over a pulse point this time. “But I know you won’t. You haven’t, not once. You’ve got the best self-control I’ve ever seen Jack and I love you so, _so_ much for it. For trying so hard for me; for denying yourself…. I love you. A-and loving you… means trusting you. Means knowing when to stop you. You don’t own me, and you aren’t them. You’re Jack. Sean.” He tucked his face into the crook of Jack’s neck. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Jack took a deep breath, pressing his face against Mark's soft hair. “You make it so hard sometimes,” Jack murmured. “The things I want to do to you...but you also make it so easy.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to Mark's ear and squeezing tighter.

Mark would have been content to sit there like that forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	79. 8/23: Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark knows it's a big risk, but it's one he's willing to take.

The next morning arrived with the usual bout of affectionate cuddles. After pulling away from each other last night, Mark and Jack had cleaned themselves up before tucking back into bed. Mark went pantsless, and Jack didn’t bother putting his shirt back on. They still managed to snuggle down together beneath the duvet, and ended up sneaking little kisses until exhaustion dragged them to slumber. Mark fell asleep feeling lighter than the night before.

Waking up to Jack’s smiling face was one of the very best parts about being his boyfriend, in Mark’s opinion. They mumbled morning greetings and little terms of endearment to each other until Chica started whining from her crate down the hall. It was the daily signal for them: time to separate and get out of bed to let the pupper out. Usually, one of them- most likely Mark- would jump on making breakfast. Jack almost always brewed the coffee.

That particular morning had Jack whipping them up a quick and easy breakfast of cereal and some fruit. He had to go to the market and wanted to leave early so he wouldn’t get back too late. Jack offered for Mark to come along and get some more crowd practice in, but Mark turned him down. He still felt drained from last night’s activities and a day of recuperation would probably be for the best. Mark was a little disappointed he’d be missing his boyfriend for a good chunk of the day, but several goodbye kisses helped to lift his spirits. It was late morning when he found himself alone in the cabin with Chica. Hardly a rare occurrence, but a little somber every time he experienced it. (Chica made it better. Before Chica, he’d been _really_ alone.)

He busied himself by tending the garden. A little before noon, a small flock of ducks decided to loiter there and Mark took advantage of the opportunity to create a Pokemon parody with “Chicachu” versus the “wild Ducklers” of the “Emerald region”. He didn’t have his Pokemon Go outfit, but some gloves, a hat and a jacket worked well enough. Mark got some good footage of Chica chasing off the waterfowl and sat down to edit the vlog over an easy lunch. A few appropriate sound and lightning effects later had the video rendering and ready for YouTube.

By then it was barely after noon and Mark knew Jack was probably still going around the markets trying to remember everything they needed. So he took a seat on the couch and prepared to get some gaming footage in for another video. Wouldn’t his community be surprised and ecstatic? Mark was feeling _good;_ really good. There was a significant weight lifted off his shoulders and he felt as if he could take on the world. He was happy and content in their little cottage and Chica was sitting by the door, whining- oh. Mark hesitated with his hand on the television remote. “You wanna go out, Chica-bica? I figured you’d be tired after chasing all those ‘Ducklers’ around. Unless that just riled you up….”

Mark set the remote down to scratch a bit at his stubble. Chica wasn’t sitting by the _back_ door. Her shoulder was leaned up against the front door while she stared Mark down from across the room. She wanted to go for an actual _walk._ “Chica….” Jack wasn’t home yet. Mark _always_ took Chica on walks with Jack; always went out _with Jack._ It was both a safety measure and a comfort for Mark. He felt less vulnerable and paranoid with Jack there by his side, eating up his attention.

Except Jack was still at the markets and likely wouldn’t be home for at _least_ an hour. Mark looked over at Chica again, with her gently tapping tail and big, brown eyes. His heart clenched in his chest. “Awwwh, pupper…. Why you gotta guilt trip me like this, huh? You know I’d love to take you out. But Jack…” Jack _wasn’t there._ Mark couldn’t leave the cabin without him.

_‘Couldn’t; or_ **_wouldn’t?’_ **

He bit his lip at the abrupt thought. Why _couldn’t_ Mark go out on his own? He wasn’t a nervous wreck anymore. He’d been outside _numerous_ times by now and was getting better at handling people, especially on the individual or couple scale they would usually contend with on the roads around their home. He knew the routes to take like the back of his hand and Mark wouldn’t even be completely _alone._ He’d have Chica with him. Maybe she wasn’t much of a guard dog, but she’d sense danger coming from a mile away. Then they could _both_ run.

Really, when Mark thought about it, there was no good reason for him _not_ to go out on his own. It would be a big step in his recovery and he could cement all the things he’d spilled to Jack last night about belonging to no one but himself and having the capability to act on his own decisions. If he constantly let Jack take the lead, then he wasn’t really _healing,_ was he? Mark needed to take some initiative.

He was getting a lot of fantastic opportunities from the universe today.

A few moments more of consideration later had Mark rising to his feet with a determined expression. “Y’know what? All right Chica. Let’s go for walkies. Lemme just-” He bypassed the leash hanging by the door to search around for the Post-It’s Jack had bought _weeks_ ago. They’d gotten the things to leave notes for each other but after the first few days they wound up tossed carelessly in a corner, forgotten. Mark and Jack rarely spent enough time or distance apart to call for a note. Mark was about to change that.

He jotted down a quick message for Jack in the neat, bold script of a thin-tipped Sharpie: _‘Don’t freak out. I just took Chica for a walk. Should be back soon. You can come and try to catch us if you want. We’re taking the path by the river. -Mark’_

He frowned. It was missing something.

_‘P.S. <3’_

Perfect. Satisfied with his handiwork, Mark peeled off the Post-It and went to the door of the little office they primarily recorded in. There was no way Jack would miss it there, so he popped the note on the door with a hum but fumbled in surprise as Chica bounded between his legs. The pup’s impatience was getting the better of her. Mark couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement while he gave her head a good scrubbing with his hands. “You excited for your walk? Huh? You ready to go pee on some more trees pupperschnupp? Okay, let’s get going before the weather turns. Sunshine never lasts long around these parts.”

Mark returned to the front door with an eager Chica and hooked on her leash. After making sure he had a key and the door was locked behind them, he slackened her leash and started down the road towards the riverside. He’d also grabbed a coat and umbrella just in case, but for the moment the blue skies were only partly cloudy. It was perfect walking weather and Mark smiled. “This isn’t so bad.”

His first attempt to leave the cabin with only Chica in tow for company was a bit more eventful than he anticipated it would be. The “river path” was a serene route he often took with Jack when they just wanted to unwind. It traveled in a sidewinding fashion along the bank of the River Shannon with an overflow of flora and plenty of pretty spots to rest. Rarely did they encounter more than the passing couple or jogger, which made it perfect.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, he’d been nervous. Mark had never- _never-_ been without human companionship outside of their little cottage since he left the hospital. If it wasn’t Jack, then it was some professional Mark was seeing, and the semi-solitude was odd. Stranger still in hindsight seeing as he used to live and run around by his lonesome _all the time._ He hadn’t even realized how dependent he’d become.

Yet that was before. This was now, and _now_ was Mark leaving the house on his own. _Now_ was Mark taking Chica on a walk like he used to _by himself_ hundreds of times before on the streets of L.A. He knew this area. He had a good idea of the people he could come across. He’d been walking for a while and nothing had leaped out of the shadows to attack him. Mark hadn’t even seen a sign of another human being since leaving their front yard. He was… okay. This was _okay._

Mark felt giddy, like someone had filled his chest with helium. “I’m okay.” There was no one around besides Chica, so he felt comfortable saying the words aloud. “This is _okay._ ” He laughed to himself. Not at anything humorous, but just at the bubbling flood of _good feelings._ Pride, excitement, relief, accomplishment; his therapist would be ecstatic. _Jack_ would be ecstatic. He’d probably be so proud of Mark when he found out. Mark couldn’t keep the grin off his face and Chica, as if sensing her daddy’s good mood, yipped and bounded on the path playfully. Mark _beamed._ “I’m doing it. I’m doing _this,_ I am, and I’m okay. Huhuhuh! Oh my gosh why didn’t I try doing this sooner?! I’m such an idiot, it’s just a stupid walk but I _feel so great._ Jack’s gonna laugh at me.” That was okay too, though, because Mark _loved_ Jack’s laugh.

The weather didn’t turn while they were out, which Mark was glad for. They did eventually have to step aside for a familiar jogger and Mark gave her a friendly wave as she passed. Chica made several die hard attempts to go after various wildlife but Mark had his strength back, now. He could halt her with only a little struggle which was good, because the last thing they needed was another badger incident.

He did take a little rest on a grassy knoll; a favorite of his and Jack’s. It hosted a grand view of the river and the sunset, too, but the afternoon was still very young. Nonetheless, it was nice to just _lay out_ on the grass for a bit with Chica panting contentedly by his side. The cool breeze off the river felt glorious through his hair: healthy, trimmed nice, no longer bearing any signs of his captivity. He absorbed even the weakest amount of sunlight like a sponge while he cuddled with his favorite fluff child. Mark listened to the birds causing a ruckus on the water and in the trees and did his best to cement the scene into his memory. Every good memory he built pulverized a bad one and though he loved Jack dearly, he knew good memories he could make by himself were important. This definitely wouldn’t be the last time Mark ventured out on his own.

However, he knew Jack was going to be back soon- if he hadn’t returned already. He should get home before his boyfriend started to worry. On the way back, he was held up by a couple taking their daughter on an afternoon stroll. She was an adorable little toddler with bright red curls, a face full of freckles and blue eyes that reminded him of the man waiting for him back home. She was _begging_ to “pet the doggy” and Mark simply couldn’t say no. Chica, ever the attention hog, was all too happy to let the child practically ride on her back. The parents attempted some small talk while subtly apologizing for their daughter’s over-enthusiasm and, admittedly, it was a little nerve-wracking but Mark kept it together. He remembered his breathing when his chest started feeling too tight and though awkward, the conversation went relatively smooth. By the time they separated and Mark was heading home again, his pride had redoubled. He couldn’t _wait_ to tell Jack.

Surprisingly, when he finally did get home Jack was nowhere to be found. Mark checked the clock and found it was starting to get late, but he figured something must have simply held the Irishman up. Open farmers markets could be chaotic. Or maybe he missed the bus. There were a plethora of perfectly logical explanations that didn’t involve Jack being kidnapped. Totally.

Desperate not to let his mind wander to outlandish, terrifying possibilities, Mark filled Chica’s water bowl and decided to pick up where he’d left off earlier in the day. He grabbed the game controller he’d left sitting on the table and loaded up a new game that had recently been released. _Hamster Maze Race_ was about as ridiculous to play as it was to say, and Mark was in a remarkably good mood by the time his boyfriend walked through the door.

Mark swore the hamsters were against him on this level, but the appearance of Jack in the doorway served as a fantastic distraction as he died- _again._ He paused the game when the level automatically restarted and set the controller aside with a bit of his usual “frustrated by the game” bluster. However, when he turned to face Jack he was smiling, and he combed a bit of his dark fringe out of his eyes. “There you are! I was starting to think I might need to call the Irish cavalry or something… do you guys even _have_ one of those? Are those a thing anymore? I dunno. How was the market?”

“Where,” Jack choked out, his voice tight, “the _fuck_ have _you BEEN!?_ ” He clenched his hands into fists. “Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA how long I’ve been looking for you!? You just up and disappeared, no note, no call, nothing! I tore the fucking _house_ apart, tore the _city_ apart trying to find you, had to pretend that no, nothing was wrong at all when I got recognized, all the while trying not to imagine you back in that room!?”

Jack’s immediate shout might as well have been a truck slamming into Mark at full speed. He was so shocked it took a few seconds for his smile to actually drip off his face in tiny increments. His brown eyes widened from behind his glasses while he watched Jack rant with a mixture of emotions rapidly descending towards the negative, all the color drained from his face. A tension that had been blessedly absent from his body for a majority of the day reared its hideous head with a vengeance. It felt like the air was being sucked from his lungs as Jack confronted him about- about what? “Disappearing”? Jack had been home already?

Jack’s mouth shut with an audible click and he turned away. He was shaking and pressing one fist to his forehead. Anger rolled off his tense shoulders in waves, reverberating long after his words.

Flabbergasted confusion crossed wires with slight terror as Mark tried to comprehend what had just been thrown at him. Jack’s volume, tone and body language didn’t make it easy for him to focus. Every nerve in his body was having its own miniaturized panic attack and screaming at him to run, to hide, to get down on the floor and ‘ _beg for forgiveness because you fucked up and now they’re going to fuck_ ** _you_** _up you giant moron of a human being.’_ He sucked in a tight breath. Breathing, breathing; he had to breathe, what was his count again?

Mark pressed a hand to his chest but his heartbeat wasn’t too bad, yet. He tried to measure his breathing by the rise and fall of his breast as he looked to Jack with a mixture of hurt and concern on his face. Jack was angry, yes, but he was also visibly _upset._ No matter how scared he was, Mark wanted to fix it. “J-Jack-” The name was a squeak in his throat and Mark stopped himself, trying to clear it. He did his best not to stutter when he spoke again.

“Jack. What’s… what are you talking about? I- I left a note. I left it right on the office door so you’d see it, I didn’t think to call because….” Mark hadn’t wanted to lose his nerve. He didn’t want Jack to worry, and come home early, or give Mark doubts about his good idea. Jack cared- a lot. Sometimes, Mark just needed to do things on his own. He shook his head, still trying to soothe his breathing, still trying not to give in to his urge to crawl under the coffee table where he’d be less exposed. He trusted Jack. He _trusted_ ** _Jack._** “...I didn’t, I’m sorry, but I did leave you a note! I just went out with Chica. That was it. I.. I wanted to try going alone. I’m sorry.”

Jack folded his arms across his chest, hugging himself. “There wasn’t a note,” Jack ground out. “There _wasn’t_ , I ripped the place apart looking for one. I came home and you were _gone_ and I didn’t know…”

Mark was flummoxed. “There was! You can ask Chica, she _saw me_ put it on the door ‘cause she was so excited to go out.” He hadn’t really seen the rest of the house. Mark had gotten Chica water from the kitchen sink then gone straight to playing his game. Now he regretted his oversight because maybe he could have at _least_ prepared himself for this.

No, on second thought, it was probably a good thing he didn’t see the destruction. His mind would have immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion and it would have been a complete disaster. Still, whether Mark saw the results of Jack’s frantic searching or not, the point stood that he distinctly recalled leaving a note; cheeky little heart and all. “I don’t understand, it was there, it was. I wouldn’t just leave without…” Mark trailed off as something bright and yellow caught his eye. There was a familiar square of paper peeking out from under Jack’s shoe and any color that had returned to Mark’s face trickled away again. “...Jack. Please don’t be mad.. er.. but there’s something stuck to your shoe.”

Jack looked down, then lifted his foot, peeling a now grubby and battered Post-It note off his sole. Mark watched Jack’s body language as he gathered up and read the note. The shift in tension was all the confirmation he needed. The note must have fallen at some point after Mark left. Jack stepped on it, found nothing to explain Mark’s absence and panicked. It was like some cruel joke by the universe or fate; something straight out of a comedy.

Except no one was laughing.

“I still need to record today. I’ll see you later.” Jack turned sharply, stalking toward the recording room.

“Jack?” Mark didn’t get a response as Jack hurried out of the room. Stunned and still a little hurt from the confrontation, he rose to his feet. He’d just started stepping after Jack when he paused. Mark’s hands, slightly outstretched to a body no longer there, slowly dropped back to his sides. He stared at the empty space Jack had been occupying mere seconds ago and frowned.

Jack was furious, he was upset. He needed some time to cool off and burn the negative energy; get rid of it away from Mark, where it was safe. They both knew his outburst alone had already nearly triggered Mark. Were it just a month earlier, he would have lost it. Mark wanted to go after Jack and try to make things right, make things _better,_ make Jack _happy_ but he knew it was a bad idea. Jack needed space and time. Mark would just have to lick the minor wounds himself and be there for Jack when he was calm again and ready to talk.

It still hurt. They’d never had a blow up like that, even before Mark was kidnapped. He’d never really seen Jack reach such an intense level of rage and _he’d_ caused it. The knowledge left a bad taste in his mouth. Mood soured, he turned off the game he’d been messing with and retreated to the same place as always. The garden welcomed him in its own peaceful way but he left Chica inside the house, for once.

Briefly, he considered working out to take his mind off of what happened, but decided against it. He felt like his energy had been sapped. Instead, Mark went and laid out beneath the willow tree. He stared up at the cloudy sky through its gently swaying branches and waited. Jack would know where to find him and when he did, they would fix this.

“Hey.” That was Jack’s voice. “Hey, you probably shouldn’t sleep out here. You’ll get a crick in your back.”

“ _Mngh? Urngh. Mmm…._ ” The first words out of Mark’s mouth weren’t exactly comprehensible. He mumbled a few more snippets of nonsense as he roused himself with a soft snort. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but he must have dozed off while waiting for Jack.

Jack, who was _right there,_ crouched beside him and speaking in dulcet tones. Jack who wasn’t angry and trembling and near to snapping anymore. Mark blinked up at him with bleary brown eyes and crooked spectacles. There was still some drool clinging to his cheek. “Jack…” His earlier precautions were thrown out the window. In half a beat, Mark had strong arms wrapped tight around the Irishman so he could bury his face against a pale neck. He breathed, and that one breath of _Jack_ was enough to let him ignore the ache in his back from their awkward position. _“I’m sorry.”_

“No, Mark, no, _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have… I was scared. I was so scared, and I took it out on you, and I’m _sorry_. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all me this time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sweet relief flooded Mark’s veins as he felt the familiarity and security of Jack’s arms locking around him. They relaxed into each other as if it was just another day, just another hug. ‘ _Of course I forgive you, of course.’_ He wanted to tell Jack it was okay, that he’d done nothing wrong and was completely justified. Which he was- in his fear. If Mark pretended the rest was okay, it would be a major step backwards for both of them. It _wasn’t_ okay, but Mark could still forgive him for it, and he did. He had long before he walked out the back door. “I know you didn’t mean it. I know it was just your emotions talking, Jack, I’ve been there. I forgive you. I do. You _know_ I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you enough to still love you after you make a mistake….”

He pulled back some to kiss at Jack’s cheek. More than anything, Mark was just happy to see Jack no longer quaking with barely stoppered rage. “You… you really scared me, for a minute. But we both kept our heads. That’s what’s important. I… I should have called you. Before I left. I should’ve known how big of a move it was and I just… I’m sorry for that. That I made you think I was gone again. That’s not what I wanted at all….”

Jack caught Mark’s face in his hands and kissed his lips, drawing back to look at his face. “I came home and you weren’t here and I just… just immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. I tried to stay calm, but I looked _everywhere_ for you, and… and we’re getting you an Irish phone. First thing tomorrow. Because…” Jack hugged Mark again, setting his chin on Mark’s shoulder. “Because...I’m glad you were able to go out on your own. I know I didn’t act like it, but I’m _happy_. You’re so much better, and that’s good, that’s _great_ , but if something _had_ happened, you wouldn’t have had any way to get in touch with me. Or the police. It’s not… not that I don’t trust you going out on your own. I just want you to be able to get in contact with me.”

Mark squeezed Jack in his arms and tucked his face in against the back of Jack’s head, the short hairs there tickling at his face. He was able to close his eyes in the moment as he found himself surrounded by and pressed into signs of safety. When they closed, he could still see Jack and their little garden. He could still feel Jack against him; focus on their heartbeats sharing a sweet back-and-forth. Jack didn’t hate him. Jack wasn’t upset with him. Jack still _loved_ him and he was proud of Mark. He couldn’t stop a smile. “Okay. Okay, I’ll get an Irish phone. It’s been long overdue anyway. It’s not gonna have to be bright green and covered in rainbows though, is it? ‘Cause I know I’m gay and all now but I think that’s excessive advertising.” Humor always tended to make things better.

“No, Mark, the green phones are reserved for those who are leprechaun by blood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	80. 8/23: Jack's Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wants to tie them even closer together, but Mark isn't so sure.

After dinner was reserved for cuddling together on the couch with a show on the television while Jack interacted with his community and Mark scrolled through his Twitter feed. Tonight, they were (finally) watching _Legend of Korra_. Mark was snuggled beneath Jack’s arm, and Jack was rubbing his back and scrolling through Tumblr while Mark talked about his day. They had both calmed down and put the house back together, and Mark finally got to see that pride he’d been anticipating in Jack’s smile.

Mark might be a rambler with the attention span and atmosphere retention of a gnat at times, but he could tell when something's up with Jack. (Curse the fact that thought carried a musical undertone.) His boyfriend’s hand had stilled to settle gently over the scarred lettering on his back, after Mark’s shirt had ridden up from their cuddling. Jack was still watching the television, but his eyes weren't focused and Mark knew the look of someone zoned out all too well; it was a mainstay in his own daily life. Something was on Jack’s mind and it was pointless to let the episode keep rolling if neither of them were retaining it.

Quietly, he grabbed the remote and paused Netflix. Then he snuggled deeper against Jack to look up at him with big, brown eyes. Chica had learned from the best, after all. Granted, Mark ended up speaking in the exaggeratedly gentle tone of a lovesick romantic interest straight out of a movie- just for shits and giggles. “Tell me what you're thinking about.”

“Hmm?” Jack looked down at Mark. “I’m thinking about you,” he answered, in the same sort of tone. With a little more seriousness, Jack sighed and his fingers traced the S on Mark’s back. “I’m thinking about these,” he admitted. “And how no matter what we _want_ them to mean, we both know why they were made. What they actually mean.”

That got a snort out of Mark. Bless Jack for never hesitating to play along, though Mark shivered a little from the tracing. It wasn't because of the scar itself anymore, just the sensation of a calloused finger sparking friction against his skin. Ever since he'd showed Jack the scar it never seemed to be very far from his mind. “I guess…. But it's like I said. Just because we know, that doesn't mean we have to follow it. Or let it dictate us. It should just be like all my other scars.”

“It should be, but it’s _not_. It’s not, Mark, and you know it isn’t. You were afraid to show me this one. These,” Jack pulled his other hand away from his laptop to touch Mark’s face, tracing one of the visible scars there, then down to touch where a scar cut across Mark’s chest beneath the cover of his shirt, “these weren’t given to you deliberately, with the intent to leave a message. These were just proof that you were hurt. _This one_ …”

Jack grimaced as he moved to the M. “This one was meant to be a brand, Mark. And you’ll never forget that. _I’ll_ never forget that. And it’ll take years to try to recondition ourselves to thinking of it any other way…”

Mark sank against Jack with a dull ache in his chest because he _knew_ Jack was right. No matter how positive or optimistic he tried to be there were just some indisputable facts that couldn't be fought against. “I was afraid to show you that one because I knew it'd have this effect on you….” Yet he pressed into each of Jack’s gentle caresses. He wasn't scared of Jack touching the scars anymore because he knew the gesture would never be anything but tender and loving. Mark sighed. “I'm really hoping my ears aren't deceiving me and that's a ‘but’ I hear….”

Jack smiled, leaning over to kiss Mark’s hair. “There _is_ a but, but I’m not sure how much you’re gonna like it. Hear me out, okay? This isn’t just a whim. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. Longer than I’ve known about these scars, actually, though it didn’t really start to form a shape until… just hear me out?”

Jack crept his fingers beneath the hem of Mark’s shirt again and spread his hand across the scar, covering it. “This mark was meant to mean that you’re mine. And in one way, you are. You’re my boyfriend. You’re _mine_. But by that very same logic… I’m yours. Your boyfriend. _Yours_. You… You have my initials claiming you as mine, and I… don’t. It makes things unbalanced between us. Unequal. If I… If I had _your_ initials…”

_“Jack stop right there.”_

There was an urgent horror in Mark’s tone which could be felt in the tension that had infiltrated his muscles. Fingers which had been languidly spread across Jack’s body curled to dig in where they lay as if trying to physically drag Jack’s attention to just how _bad_ his unspoken idea was; how utterly _wrong._ All the relaxed serenity Mark had been playing host to evaporated as he looked up at Jack with wide, terrified eyes. The expression on his face was akin to the one Jack’s ranting had dragged out earlier. “You are _not_ getting my initials put _anywhere_ on your body. I never liked that concept to begin with but especially not because of this. Because of what they did to _me._ You aren't permanently marking yourself just to make up for their sick, twisted games. This is the _opposite_ of trying to dismiss its significance Jack why would you even _think_ of doing this for me? You can't. _You can't._ ” Mark’s voice was edging on frantic as he found himself pleading with Jack like he'd already decided and made up his mind, but it sounded like he had. Mark tried his best to stave off the possibility of an anxiety attack.

“Mark, shh, it’s okay.” Jack pushed his laptop to the couch so he could turn and hug Mark. “I won’t do anything you are so opposed to, okay? I promise. I just… just want you to hear me out. Hear _why_ I want this. Okay?”

Mark clung to Jack the moment it became possible. He pressed his cheek against Jack’s chest and calmed himself by tuning into his boyfriend’s steady heartbeat. He tried to slow his own so they would match. “Okay….” Jack was right. The least Mark could do was hear him out. Nothing negative could come of that.

“I… I like tattoos, remember?” Jack twisted his arm so Mark could see the symbol inked into his skin. “I like the idea of having these sorts of visible reminders of epochs in my life. I know I only have one right now, but I’ve been planning on having more even before I got this one. And this… regardless of what happens with us, our relationship, regardless of the future, if we break up or hate each other or stay together for the rest of our lives… we are _always_ going to be bound together by what happened. _Always_. And you… you bear the scars physically, and I… I dunno. Wanted to express my solidarity with you? I wanted to show that it affected me too, and that’s what I mean when I say I’ve been considering this for a long time. And then you showed me those initials, and I just… it was so _unfair_ , that you had to bear this burden alone. And I know my getting your initials doesn’t change a damn thing about how you got mine or dismiss its significance, but it does… like I said, it balances it. _You_ don’t belong to _me. We_ would belong to _each other._ At least for this moment in time.”

Mark listened to Jack’s attempt at explaining and managed to calm down enough to be a little more reasonable. He could think clearer, and he pieced his thoughts together as he spoke. Each word was thick with caution and trepidation but his outright dismissal had diminished somewhat. “I don’t… Jack, I don’t want you to feel _obligated_ to share my scars. I’m so, _so_ relieved and happy you didn’t have to suffer like me in that room. That they couldn’t get their hands on you. The thought of them ever hurting you hurts _me._ The thought of you marking _yourself…_ I don’t… I don’t know, Jack….”

He wriggled one arm free to brush at Jack’s current tattoo with his fingers. It was just ink on skin, not symbols carved into flesh- removable, even. But it would still be his initials; his _name_ tying them even tighter together under someone else’s rules. “I know it’s unfair. I know you want to put us on equal ground but…. _Jack,_ it’s such a big decision. I don’t like thinking you’re doing this just because of me. To try and comfort _me._ I love you as mine, but I never want to _own_ you. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to drag yourself any further physically into this….”

Jack resumed rubbing his back softly and dipped his head to press his cheek to Mark’s hair. “I’m not considering this out of any sense of obligation,” he said quietly. “Mark, I _want_ to. It’s not… it wouldn’t hurt. I mean, it _will_ , but it won’t. I was freaking out a little about the tattoo hurting, but it barely hurt at all. More annoyance than pain. And it’s not… it’s not _them_ hurting me. It’s not _them_ doing this to me. Aside from the fact that it would be done by a professional in a clean, sterile environment…” Jack turned to kiss at Mark’s head. “It’s _me_ doing it to me. Or us, since I know you’re going to continue to blame yourself.”

“Of course I'm gonna blame myself. You can't look me in the eye and tell me you'd get my initials tattooed on you if I didn't have yours carved into me.” He _couldn't._ If Jack said something like that, Mark might actually start crying. The only reason Jack would go to such lengths _had_ to be because Mark had been forced to himself. “Which means so what if it's not _them_ doing it? It's still _being done_ ** _because_** of them.”

Jack folded his arms around Mark’s back again. “It’s the difference between getting clawed and a caress,” he said. “Between how they’d pin you to a wall and how you pinned me. It’s not born from hate or mockery or sadism, but from love. _Our_ love.”

Mark frowned as Jack brought up the comparison example again because it was still a difficult concept to wrap his conditioned brain around. “Does the fact you're doing it out of love really make so much of a difference then…?” he murmured, tying in his last voiced concerns about the Ship Sinker influencing Jack’s decision.

“And…” Jack pressed his face into Mark’s floofy hair. “And you know how much I love having your marks on me.”

That was a new kink of Jack’s they’d discovered together. After Mark bit Jack hard enough to bruise the next day, Jack had dragged him into cuddles and confessed how much he enjoyed it. Mark was a little stunned and bemused, but he admitted to enjoying the act of biting Jack too. He’d been feeling a little guilty about the damage but with Jack dispelling his assumptions, Mark had then proceeded to nearly make Jack cream his pants just by leaving a ring of hickies around his neck. Jack had to pull a hoodie over them to record his videos for the next couple of days.

“It just… it makes one permanent, even when we’re apart, and it makes yours… it makes yours _mine_ , and not _theirs_. It takes it from them, takes their power.” Jack finished abashedly.

Mark burbled up an embarrassed sound at the mention of the marks. “Hickeys aren't on the same level as tattoos Jack you fuckin’ goober. Plus I wouldn't technically be the one marking you, even if it's my initials.” Mark turned his head so he could tuck his face into Jack’s chest rather than his cheek. His voice was quiet and solemn when he next spoke. “...you really wanna do this, don't you? Will it help you feel better? Will you stop obsessing over mine and what it means?”

Jack nodded against Mark's hair. “I really do, Mark. I really think...think it'll help. Me, at least, if not you. But I _don't_ want...I don't want to make things worse for you. I don't want to break your heart every time you see your initials in my skin. If you're opposed to it, I _won't_. We'll find some other way. I just…”

Sighing, Jack kissed Mark's hair. “I want to be yours. Tangibly. Even if we can never… I love you. Right here, right now, that is true, and I want...I want to commemorate that.”

Mark wrapped his arms snugly around Jack’s middle and let his face remain buried in Jack’s chest. He was tucked up against his boyfriend in a warm, comfortable snuggle on _their_ couch in _their_ cabin- _their home._ He loved Jack; he'd long come to accept that as rock hard fact and Jack loved him. There were no longer any doubts, but this was hurting them. These lines carved into Mark’s skin that actually _meant_ something, unlike the rest. Jack wanted to make that one piece of trauma shared between them. It was the only aspect he could touch and truly shoulder some of the burden from. He didn't want Mark to feel alone.

Mark lifted his head, dragging his nose lightly up the center of Jack’s chest until his crown was bumping up beneath Jack’s chin. Once there he stopped to nuzzle- slow and affectionate and _endeared_ \- at the bit of exposed skin above the collar of Jack’s shirt. “I love you. You know I do. I'm not… I'm just not sure, Jack. Sleep on it? I could tell you tomorrow. If it's a thing I can handle.”

“Of course.” Jack kissed Mark's forehead. “Of course, Mark, there's no rush. It's a permanent change. It _shouldn't_ be taken lightly. And _please_ be honest with me. I don't want to do it if it hurts you.” He nudged down until he could peck at Mark's lips. “Because I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	81. 8/26: Making a Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's not just emotional this time.

In the morning, Mark agreed to a tattoo. Jack pushed for actual scarification, but Mark blanched and Jack immediately dropped it. A tattoo would be fine, especially since Mark agreed to let Jack take a picture of his scar so Jack's could be made to match.

Jack set up an appointment for several days later, and Mark and Chica accompanied him to the shop. Jack introduced his tattoo artist to Mark, but even meeting her in person, Mark declined actually going back with Jack. He couldn't watch the process.

Three hours later, Jack emerged from the back room, all smiles for Mark. “It's done,” he said, taking Mark's hand and giving it a squeeze. “She did a _great_ job. I'm happy with it.”

After waiting for so long in a new place with new people and _knowing_ Jack was going under the needle to (semi)permanently mark his skin, Mark was ready to just fall into Jack’s arms and hold him close for the rest of the day. However, they were in public, and even hand holding was a little risky so he'd have to make do with it alone until they got home. Chica was a godsend. She'd kept him grounded while Jack was gone and now sat firmly at his other side, his free hand naturally tangling its fingers up in the soft fur behind her ears. Surrounded by his anchors, Mark managed a relieved smile and returned Jack’s squeeze. “I want to see it. Later. Whenever you can take the gauze off. It… didn't hurt too much, did it?”

“It barely hurt at all,” Jack said. He drummed his fingernails against the back of Mark's hand. “Like that, with the occasional pinch. My arm one hurt worse. She said if I had gone more to my sides, it would have hurt more. I'll show you tonight. Ready to go home?”

Mark’s shoulders sagged with further relief. He knew Jack wouldn't suffer as he had in the room, but he was still concerned the tattoo would hurt. He was going to kiss the spot over and over once it was healed, but he knew better than to do it now. Taking a careful glance around, Mark subtly interlocked their fingers to give Jack’s hand a firmer squeeze. Chica got to her feet with a little yip at the mention of home, just as eager to go. “Please.” Mark hesitated, uncertain, then continued in a tentatively hopeful tone. “...we could stop and get some cookies from that bakery we like on the way, though? Before the bus?”

Jack's eyes lit up. “As if you even have to ask!” He squeezed Mark's hand back and grinned at him before pulling away to open the door. “How'd Chica hold up? Not get too worried?””

The remaining tension in Mark melted away to a warm sensation at Jack’s reaction. He smiled- beamed, almost- and followed Jack out of the little shop. He might not have been nearly so crazy about the sweet stuff, but he'd never get tired of Jack’s enthusiasm. Chica tugged at her leash, wanting to bound ahead now that she was outdoors again, but Mark kept a firm grip on it with his free hand and shrugged a shoulder. “She got a little antsy but a good rub down now and then stopped her from howling or anything. People kept wanting to pet her so she got plenty of attention. I'm glad we could bring her along.” Not only was she a good substitute for Jack when need be, but Mark didn't like leaving his fluffy child at home all by her lonesome.

Jack bumped their shoulders together. “That's good to hear. How did her daddy do?”

Mark blinked and looked over to Jack with a quirked eyebrow. “What- oh. _Oh._ ” His confusion shifted into realization coupled with slight embarrassment. He put on a sheepish grin but was unable to throw in an awkward neck rub to complete the expression- both his hands were full. “Sorry. Her daddy was fine too. I mean, _I_ was fine. Too. Uh… besides asking about Chica, no one really bothered me. Which was good. I don't know how well I could've maintained a conversation.” He looked down, suddenly bashful, then back to Jack as he continued in a mumble. “Okay, I admit, Chica was about the only thing stopping me from running back there to make sure you were okay. She kept distracting me when my brain would start conjuring up horror stories.”

“I'm glad we were able to bring her. Chica's always a good conversation piece.” Jack bumped against Mark's shoulder again, their arms lingering together. “You got through it, though. That's what counts.”

Mark pressed to Jack’s side for as long as he dared before forcing himself to pull away. He was already _aching_ to be wrapped up in Jack’s arms again. Cookies would help. At the very least, it would keep their hands and mouths occupied. He did his best to smile. “I've been able to get through a lot lately. Things almost feel like they're back to normal.” Well, as “normal” as living in an Irish cabin with Jack as his boyfriend could be in comparison to his life before the kidnapping, but Mark couldn't say he was disappointed with the change.

It wasn't hard to get a selection of cookies for both of them, and by the time they had seats on the bus home, four cookies were already gone. Another seven disappeared before they made it back to the cottage, and Jack distracted Mark with a deep kiss before stealing the last cookie. He grinned and winked at Mark as he shoved it in his mouth. “Nom nom nom!”

When they got home, Jack had thumbnails to make, and Mark prepared dinner. After dinner, Jack approached Mark with a bottle. He’d already changed into his pajamas- one of the pairs with low hanging pants. It was hard not to stare as Mark looked up from where he’d been stretched out along the couch. Chica was laying on his feet while he checked up on some social media, but he immediately set his laptop aside on the coffee table in favor of giving Jack his full attention.

“Hey. Wanna see my tattoo? I took the gauze off, letting it air out now, so…” Jack trailed off, seeming a little hesitant.

Mark sat up. “Yeah. What’s that you’ve got? Is it for the tattoo?” He made a valiant attempt to shoo Chica so Jack could have space to sit, but she didn’t seem to be having it and his smile turned sheepish. “She’s comfy.”

“Chiiiica! Chica, I wanna lie across your daddy's legs!” Jack poked and prodded at the dog until she got off Mark's feet, then climbed onto the couch himself, sitting on Mark’s shins. He held up the bottle for Mark to see. “It’s Anti-cream, to make sure I don’t go fully Septic…”

“Oh my god….” Mark pressed his face into a hand. His exasperation at the pun was obvious, but he was still smiling from behind his palm. No matter how much of a fuss he made, puns would always tickle his funny bone and Jack’s accompanying giggle just made it even more impossible for him to act annoyed. “Guess I’d better just rub it all over you then, huh?” Mark shook his head at his own weak attempt to carry on the joke and let his hand fall.

“The tattoo is basically an open wound,” Jack explained a little better with a shrug. “So it’s really important to keep it clean and free of bacterias. I already took the bandages off and washed it, and after I let it dry, I need to smear this all over it. Gotta do it for a couple days before it’s healed enough to not need quite so much attention.”

Reaching out, Mark took the ointment from Jack to look it over with a soft hum. “It’s in a pretty awkward spot. I could help you put it on? Since I’m gonna be looking at it anyway….” He scratched lightly at his stubble as his earlier phrasing gave him an idea. “And… maybe I could _actually_ give you a rubdown? Your back, I mean. It deserves a little pampering after today.” Jack _always_ deserved pampering. Plus, Mark would have an opportunity to get his hands on his boyfriend’s naked back. That was incentive enough to flex some latent masseuse skills.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You wanna give me a backrub?” He crawled up Mark's legs and leaned up to kiss him. “I would _love_ a backrub.” Jack straddled Mark's thighs, wrapping his arms loosely around Mark's shoulders. “But first, I'd love to just kiss you. And hold you. Thank you. For today. I love you.”

Mark startled a bit as he had been expecting Jack to take a different course of action. Though once the shock wore off, he found himself quite content with the position. He’d never really been straddled, in the room. Like blowjobs and kisses, the position was just considered too “gay”. ( _He’d_ always been the one forced to straddle _them._ ) This was a pleasant change of pace that let him rest hands snugly on Jack’s hips. Mark squeezed at them before running his palms up and down Jack’s sides. “Thank _you._ For doing this. For listening to my concerns about it and letting me choose…. It means a lot, Jack. I’d never want to police your body. But I love you. And I love you the way you are.”

He reached up between them to cup gently at Jack’s face, drawing it closer. Mark kissed Jack, sweet and tender, with one hand settled easily on his hip. _“I love you.”_ He murmured into Jack’s mouth before pulling him into another kiss with a slight tilt of his head to better lock their lips.

“You share my life, Mark. Your opinion does matter. You'll see it too, after all.” Jack kissed Mark, kissed his cheeks and his nose and his lips. “More than me, actually. It's important that you're comfortable. Important to me. _You're_ important to me.”

“Likewise.” Mark kissed at Jack’s cheek and then pulled away to give Jack some space.

Nuzzling against Mark's beard, Jack took a deep breath. He drew back and reached for his shirt hem. “Ready for this?”

Mark watched, enthralled, as the body he’d come to love and treasure was revealed to him once more. He was unable to stop his hands from drifting back to lean muscles: skirting, pressing, squeezing while he smoothed calloused palms down and around Jack’s pecs. He’d begun just automatically thumbing at his boyfriend’s exposed nipples when Jack’s sudden inhale abruptly reminded him about what they were _supposed_ to be doing. He flushed a bit and retreated with a soft cough while Jack bit his lip.

“So… ointment. Right. Uh… anything specific I need to worry about? How sensitive is it for you right now?” Mark hardly even knew the _basics_ about tattoos so Jack would need to fill in the blanks with his own personal experience. Mark forced his hands to drop down and squeeze at Jack’s thighs.

“It's not...It feels a little bit raw, like a scraped knee, but it doesn't really _hurt_.” Jack dropped his shirt over the side of the couch, moving gingerly. “Okay, so...just be gentle. Don’t overdo the ointment, just enough to cover it and then rub it in gently. Today is the worst day for the sensitivity, and it'll get better. You can touch it, but not too hard, and don’t rub at it without the ointment.”

“Okay….” Mark still wasn’t sure, but Jack claimed it was fine. He would just have to be careful. “Jack….” The Irishman was still straddling his hips and facing him. Mark wouldn’t have a chance of seeing the tattoo no matter how crazily he craned his neck at their current angle; let alone have the coordination to rub ointment into it. Initially, he was going to point that out, but then he came to the realization Jack might not have turned around just yet on purpose. He _sounded_ confident but there was a hesitation in his tone and actions, like part of him didn’t _want_ Mark to see. Silently, he hoped beyond measure it had to do with Jack’s concern for Mark and not because he actually felt ashamed by the markings. It would be precisely what Mark had feared.

Not wanting to accidentally call Jack out on his trepidation, Mark chose a different strategy. “Jack. C’mere.” Slowly, he slipped his arms around Jack and pulled him closer. He reeled in his hold until they were pressed up flat against each other. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I _want_ to see it… I’m ready.” Mark tucked his chin over the jut of Jack’s shoulder and looked down the smooth planes of his back. The lettering was upside-down and the details were hard to make out, but they were there. _It_ was really there. Mark sucked in a tight, little breath and wondered if he was imagining the burning, tingling sensation in his lower back. “Jack… I need you to turn around.”

Jack just breathed for a moment, relaxing against Mark’s chest. He nuzzled into the crook of Mark's neck and pressed a kiss there, then drew back. “It's okay if it looks red and raw today. It’ll look even worse as it heals, but that’s normal.”

Mark took another breath. “Okay. _Okay._ ”

Jack met his eyes and then maneuvered himself off Mark's legs so he could turn around. “So...what do you think?”

Normal; Jack said it was normal. Mark tried hard to keep that in mind. His hands were still firmly gripping at Jack’s thighs while his thumbs now pressed into the little dimples just above the waistband of Jack’s jeans. His gaze started high, but eventually meandered its way down to the spot between his resting thumbs and his next breath hitched. “Jack….”

It wasn’t just a tattoo. Mark was expecting simple ink lettering; maybe in a nice font. Something more stylistic.

What he saw instead could be mistaken for a real scar at a passing glance. There was no fancy font or bold lines. The letters were skewed and scratchy as if marked messily into the Jack’s back: there were wayward lines and overshoots. Even the skin around the letters looked as if it had been half-mutilated- all in ink form, of course. If Mark didn’t know better, he’d tell Jack he should get a refund. That he should go back and make them fix it free of charge, except Jack had claimed to be happy with the end result and Mark had his suspicions.

His lungs felt tight and restricted in his chest while he urged his thumbs to inch inwards. He drew the deepest breaths he could muster and discovered he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the faux scar “carved” into pale skin. Jack had wanted a picture of _Mark’s_ scar. Now he knew why. “Jack… you didn’t… you didn’t have to… _Jack._ ” His tone was stunned and heart-wrenched when he finally touched the reddened space on Jack’s back. Mark flinched a few centimeters away as if burned. ‘ _Why would you make it ugly like mine?’_

“I wanted to, Mark,” Jack said quietly. “I _wanted_ to. I asked for this. I…” Jack bit his lip, then glanced over his shoulder at Mark. “I wanted you cut into my skin as deeply as you were cut into my heart. And it’s not perfect or polished but it’s _us_ , it’s you and me, and I love it. Just as it is.”

_Why, why_ was the word on loop in Mark’s head, over and over, but his fingers had returned to the tattoo. They were tracing along the lettering and minor details via touch alone because Mark was too busy staring into Jack’s big, blue eyes. It _wasn’t_ a scar. It wasn’t. Mark could feel how smooth the mark was, even swollen from irritated skin. There weren’t raised lines and shallow grooves like his scar boasted but beyond getting a close look, it was the only way to tell the tattoo was just that: a tattoo. Mark looked into Jack’s eyes and, as always, found himself compelled. If he could maintain his breath and his clarity of thought then he could deny Jack nothing.

Jack bowed forward a little, chewing on his lip. Mark let his fingertips rest gently over the tattoo and found himself giving a sniffle. Then another when the muscles in his face began to tremble. They were two sure signs his emotions were becoming overwhelming again and- yeah, there was the stinging in his eyes.

He was going to start blubbering and Jack would get the wrong idea and he had to try to explain _now_ while he was still semi-coherent. “Jack… Jack…. Y-you’re too much. You do too much…” His voice broke and his misty eyes threatened to spill over while he leaned forward. “I love you. I love you so much, you’re so damn _important_ to me and I’m always so w-worried you’re hurting yourself, you big.. big.. s-sentimental loserfuck! I don’t know. You know I’m bad with insults when I get all emotional goddammit Jack boyfriends shouldn’t make each other cry this much t-take responsibility fuckdamn….” The floodgates burst and Mark pressed his quickly soaking face into the back of Jack’s neck with a soft hiccup. “I-idiot… big, dumb idiot with your stupid ideas always just… _f-fuck…._ ”

Jack twisted around again to gather Mark into his arms. He cradled Mark against his chest and dusted kisses against his hair. “I know, Mark. I know. I’m a big dumb idiot with stupid ideas, but that’s why you love me so much. I know it’s why I love _you_. This didn’t hurt me, Mark. I feel… I feel so much _better_ for it, actually. I love you.”

Mark tucked his arms around Jack again and let himself be buried in the embrace. He pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder while he did his best not to start sobbing. “I-if it helps you, then… th-then I’m okay. I’m okay w-with it, _I am._ It’s not… it’s not a _real_ scar. You w-weren’t _forced_ to get it. I get that. It just… it looks so _real._ I d-didn’t know how to handle it.. Jack…”

He still didn’t, not really. Mark supposed there would be time to fix that. Jack wouldn’t get rid of the tattoo any time soon. Without really giving the movement much thought, Mark’s fingers found their way back to the spot. Their touch remained feather light on the newly made sensitive skin. _M.F._ **Mark Fischbach.** Almost identical to the letters on his own back; their meaning. Mark snuffled and turned his head so he could press his cheek against Jack’s wet shoulder. “I love you _so much,_ Jack. I do. I… l-let me calm down, and then… I’m gonna give you a backrub. I’m going to help you take care of it. I need.. to get used to it.”

Jack shivered. He reached down, sliding one hand to the letters carved into Mark's back and tracing the letters, completing the circle. He sniffed himself, ducking down to hide in Mark's hair.

It was Mark’s turn to shiver, then. The sensation was now familiar, but it almost gave him a sense of vertigo when he touched at Jack’s.  It was a little bit mind bending and apparently overwhelming for Jack as well. Mark couldn't feel any wetness yet but he knew the habit Jack had of hiding away in his hair whenever tears tried to make an appearance. Also, the tiny sniffle completely gave it away. Mark echoed the sound, but then he started to move. One of his hands gently covered the tattoo with a palm and abruptly Mark understood why it was a favorite gesture of Jack’s. Pushing forward, his now freed hand came up to lovingly cradle the back of Jack’s head. His arm curled naturally around the Irishman’s shoulders while his fingers sifted through brown and green locks to settle in.

He took a shaky breath; sniffled again. “I've got you.” Mark rubbed his fingers soothingly against the back of Jack’s scalp. He tugged at his boyfriend, coaxing him closer, urging him to let it out and kissing at the shoulder he'd just been crying into. “I'm here, Jack. I-it's okay. I love you. And I'm so happy you love me back….”

“Is it okay?” Jack asked. He mirrored Mark's gesture on his back, covering the scar completely with his hand. “The...the tattoo? Having your initials?” He kissed at Mark's hair and whispered, “Do you understand?”

Mark turned his head back so he could tuck his face into the comforting, safe space of Jack's neck. His fingers continued stroking along the back of Jack's scalp while he kept up his mental count with shaky breaths. His own tears had stopped but he still felt ravaged by emotion. _“I do.”_

The words were a strained, heartfelt whisper into Jack's neck. “I-I understand, Jack, I do. I'm s-sorry. I'm so sorry.” Mark's respective grips on Jack tightened much as he dared while he pressed wet, trembling lips to Jack's skin. “I-it's okay. _They're_ okay….”

Jack gave a quiet laugh into Mark's hair, squeezing him tight. “Don't apologize, you don't need to apologize. Just...” He nuzzled against Mark's scalp, then drew back to look down at him. “Just kiss me? Because I'm as much yours as you are mine?”

Mark looked up at Jack, and those words set his face to crumpling all over again. He could already feel how fresh tears wanted to fall and he stubbornly pulled them back. “I-if you keep talking like that I'm never gonna stop crying, d-dammit.” Mark pushed himself up; urging Jack down with the hand cradling his head so their lips could meet in the middle. It was wet and a little sloppy from them both being on the verge of tears (round two for Mark) but he didn't care. Kissing Jack would _always_ feel good.

Jack’s arms tightened around Mark's body. “You wouldn't be Mark if you weren't a bubble blowing baby half the time,” he murmured against Mark’s mouth. “Good thing I love all of you…”

“Y-you'd better ‘cause lately it's just been your s-sap making me blubber like this…. It's not fair, why aren't y-you this emotional?” Mark whined into Jack’s between their deep yet fleeting kisses. He pressed hard into the next, slotting their mouths together and lightly dragging fingernails down the back of Jack’s scalp. Just because he was crying like a baby that didn't mean he couldn't still push his dominance a bit into their kissing match.

“Dunno…” Jack gave a soft moan and shiver, shifting over Mark's legs again and pressing harder into the kiss to match him. “Dunno,” he panted. “Guess it's like your voice. Immune to what's inside me…”

“‘S still not fair….” But Mark could concede to that point.

Jack nipped lightly at Mark's lips before pulling back. “Mark...Mark, much as I don't want to stop kissing you, I do need to take care of the tattoo first…”

Mark had been so set on kissing Jack straight into another pair of future orgasms that tending the tattoo had completely slipped his mind. He tried chasing after those teasing lips but paused at Jack’s verbal reminder and deflated a little bit. “Oh. Oh, right. Okay…” Mark still wanted to help Jack and give him that back rub, but he looked a bit like a puppy who had his treat taken away.

He scritched lightly at Jack’s scalp and thumbed the tattoo one more time before forcefully removing his hands. He reached for the ointment Jack had brought along instead. “Get comfortable on your stomach and I'll figure out the best way to sit.” Mark might have to straddle Jack, but it should be okay. It was the wrong position to make him think of the room. Either way, they'd figure it out when they got there.

Jack sighed and shifted around Mark's legs until he could stretch out on the couch, resting his cheek on his folded arms and looking over his shoulder at Mark. “After this, I'll kiss you all you want,” he promised. “A thousand kisses in payment for a backrub…”

Mark couldn't believe he was about to confess something so _gay,_ “Just being able to see you like this is payment enough….” His words were sincere but still he cracked a hint of a grin at just how cheesy they sounded. Jack was spread out before him: all pale skin and lean muscle. There, at the bottom of it all, was the tattoo and Mark couldn't resist the urge to brush at it almost reverently. “It might.. might take me a minute, to get sorted back here. Sorry. Just.. once I'm settled it'll be fine. Just relax.”

Jack snickered, a blush crawling slowly along his face while he watched Mark from his low vantage point. Mark offered Jack a slightly nervous smile before leaning all the way down to press a kiss to the irritated skin around the tattoo. He wanted to lick it, but decided against it; not until it healed. Gingerly, Mark began the task of positioning himself just behind Jack’s ass so he'd have the easiest access to Jack’s back. Thankfully, he _loved_ Jack’s ass and it served as a great distraction for the fact someone was between his legs- even if he was the one on top.

“I love you,” Jack said, now face down and he shivered. “ _Fuck_ , didn't realize how sensitive I am there right now… in a good way.”

Hearing Jack say those words always instilled warmth in Mark’s chest and his smile eased into something a little more natural. “I love you too. I'll be careful around your tattoo. Just try not to wiggle too much or anything, okay? If it gets ticklish let me know and I'll go somewhere else.” They were toeing at dangerous waters again. Mark knew if he there was friction or too much motion between his legs it could set him off and it felt like it took him _ages_ to finally settle his weight down atop Jack’s thighs.

Once Mark’s lower half was taken care of he could focus on the task at hand- literally. Still he took a quick moment to smooth his palms down the planes of Jack’s back. “Fucking beautiful. Don't care if you won't believe me; gonna say it anyway.” He quipped in sing-song. Rather than dive straight into the tattoo, he figured it might help if Jack was a little more relaxed first, so he leaned in and began kneading circles along the muscles to either side of Jack’s spine with a moderate pressure. Mark primarily used his thumbs and the balls of his palms to specifically target the kinks. “You've got knots out the ass, Jack, holy fuck.”

Jack melted against the couch with a drawn-out groan. “Momiplier, thank you so, _so_ much for teaching your boy how to massage…”

Mark snorted with amusement at that and rolled his thumb into a particularly large knot. “Not sure what she'd think about the fact I'm using the skills she taught me on my boyfriend. Try to stay with me here, Jack. Don't follow the light.” He squeezed his thumbs down the narrow channels directly alongside Jack’s spine until his fingers came to reddened skin. Mark paused as he examined the tattoo once more, though his palms kept up a light press where they lingered. “...if it hurts, tell me.”

“It's, mm, sore, but don't stop! It's hardly anything, like a fresh sunburn, and the ointment makes it feel so much better.”

“Like a sunburn? See, when you say stuff like that, you make me wanna slap it.” Mark wouldn't. Even if the tattoo didn't hold such meaning Mark knew recent ones had to be treated with love and care. The last thing he wanted was for Jack to get an infection.

Jack blew a raspberry against his arm and Mark’s smile returned. Slowly and carefully, he applied a layer of ointment to his fingers and then gently rubbed the digits along the fresh ink. He was especially cautious of the places the needle had actually touched. Almost intangibly, he found himself once again tracing the letters- _his_ letters. Jack gave a moan and Mark's voice poured out in a quiet rumble, “Love you….”

Mark’s cheeks were a little pink. Jack was making some pretty great noises beneath him. Between that and getting his hands all over his boyfriend’s shirtless back Mark was beginning to feel some interest stirring in his pants. He bit at his lip and hoped Jack wouldn't- no, no Jack would _definitely_ start to feel something if he kept up those sounds. There was no trying to deny it. Maybe he wouldn't say anything, though. At the back of his mind, Mark knew Jack was probably having the same issue. He tried to let his pride in his massaging abilities take precedence over any rising fears while he slicked the fingers of one hand up with some more ointment and set back to work.

His medicated hand continued rubbing small, gentle circles over the irritated section of Jack’s skin and the other slid back up to begin kneading knuckles into the tight knot just below Jack’s neck. He worked at the muscle like dough and then swept down Jack’s spine with the same motion over each vertebrae. “I mean it, y'know. You'd better not fall asleep on me- well, _under_ me,” he quipped cheekily.

“Oh, trust me, Mark, sleep is pretty far from my mind right now, even if you are making me feel all relaxed…”

“Good. I mean, I guess I'd be flattered if I could put you to sleep with just a little rubdown. But then where would that leave me for the rest of the night?” Especially with his interest further South making itself more and more known. Jack was still moaning, even if it wasn't so obvious, and it was spawning thoughts of _other_ ways Mark could be making Jack moan like that. He squeezed a bit harder than necessary at the muscles just beneath Jack’s shoulder blades and bit sharply at his lip. Did Jack feel the same? Was he struggling just as much at maintaining control? It didn't look like it. “Jack….”

Jack’s response was to give a little shimmy; just a little wiggle of his hips.

_“Hngh.”_ Mark sucked in a quick, tight breath through his teeth. The little bump of pressure against his crotch didn’t trigger _him,_ but it certainly triggered something. He squeezed his thighs against Jack’s and buckled down on his grip as a shudder passed through his body.

“I shouldn’t,” Jack said quietly, cracking his eyes open to look back at Mark, “shouldn’t be lying on my back tonight. Probably not tomorrow night. No getting pressed into walls either. But my side is fine…though I’ll need to wear the shirt to bed, because I don’t want to get any ink or anything on the sheets.”

At first, Mark was a bit lost, but then he understood what Jack was saying. Disappointment clashed with forcibly subdued excitement while he coaxed his hands into moving again. Up and down Jack’s back, across the span of his shoulders. inching over onto his sides to skirt along the faint ridges of his ribs. Mark kept his breaths even but no longer made an effort to conceal or stop his growing erection and his pupils were slightly blown as he licked at his lips. “Jack…. Jack, that’s fine, _that’s fine._ It’s okay. I just… we can still do something. We just have to be careful. Maybe… maybe this gives us an excuse to try something.”

Jack’s groan this time was a little less _oooh feels relaxing_ and a little more _oooh feels_ ** _good_** _._ He gave another shimmy. “Oh?” he asked, a little breathless now while he watched Mark leaning over his back. “What did you have in mind, Markiplur?”

_“Ohfuck..”_ Mark breathed rough and shallow when Jack wiggled again between his legs. Pleasure bubbled up from his pelvis to still his hands once more and he gnawed at his lip, brain ticking a mile a minute. Finally, he pushed back to sit up straight again. “First: we need to move. I’m sorry if I’m cutting the backrub a little short here but Jack. I’ve got a major boner. And I have a feeling you do too. And if we don’t do something about our major boners _really soon_ I’m probably gonna die. Just straight die. Do not pass go; do not collect a resurrection.” Goddamn he was so horny even his _jokes_ were off. Mark scrubbed at his face and half a second later made a disturbed sound. “ _Eugh,_ fuck, fuckfuckfuck the ointment _gross-”_

“Oh thank fuck, because if we didn’t move, I’d probably do something we’d both regret…” Jack wiggled again, but this time it was forward, moving away from the press of Mark’s body so he could twist around and sit up. “Not that your backrub wasn’t _heavenly_. I just…” Jack belatedly giggled. “At least it’s just antiseptic? How about… how about we move to the bedroom, with a pitstop in the bathroom? You can wash your hands, and we’ll grab a towel… Fuck, Mark, you make me as horny as a teenager again. Not cool. Except the bits that totally are…”

Mark was still pulling a face, but it was mostly from the smell of the ointment remnants which had just been smeared on his skin. _“Please.”_ He was able to maneuver onto his feet with some careful adjusting- okay, _a lot_ of adjusting. Mark wasn’t lying when he said he had a _major_ boner. Bouncing on the balls of his feet with an impatience spurred on by his arousal, he resisted the urge to do a lot of things. Bodily pick up Jack to get him moving faster; flip him over and get back down on the couch to initiate a heated makeout session; lay out on top of his boyfriend- tattoo be damned- and kiss every inch of skin available until Jack was a writhing mess beneath him. It took incredible effort for Mark to focus on Jack’s words instead of the various scenarios passing through his head. “Jack. I can’t even look at you right now without wanting to bend you in half and do things that would get _both_ our channels permanently banned from YouTube. Don’t think for a single second you don’t drive my ‘adult’ hormones back a good ten years or so.”

Jack’s eyes were dark and he _whined_ as he curled his hands into the fabric of his pants. “Bathroom,” he said, getting to his feet and moving _away_ from Mark. “Bathroom, then bedroom, Mark…”

Jack narrowly avoided Mark grabbing at his face and dragging him in close to renew their kissing match from earlier by moving away so quickly. Mark’s first steps were to chase his boyfriend, but they gave him enough time to shift gears and he steadied himself with a few deep breaths. “Right. Right. Bathroom, then bedroom. Bathroom, then bedroom. Bathroom- you don’t need it, do you? Because Jack. If we get in that small space together I _cannot_ be held accountable for my actions. I’m sorry. I can get the towel if you just want to get comfortable and get the tattoo… situated.” Mark was keeping a healthy distance between them and nearly tearing a hole into his shirt out of desperation to keep his hands busy.

“Yeah, no, I don’t need the bathroom, I just…” Jack gestured at his glasses. “I’ll leave them in the bedroom tonight. Just make sure you don’t mix them up in the morning. I’ll be in the bedroom…” He gave Mark a passable attempt at a sultry smile. “-don’t keep me waiting…”

_“Jack.”_ Mark cursed up a brief storm under his breath and felt his libido going wild as Jack practically dashed out of the room. The _things_ that man could do to him. He didn’t cave to the idea of just barreling into the bedroom because Mark’s face and hand were still sticky with lotion. He also knew from plenty of experience they would need that towel.

Grudgingly, he bypassed their bedroom door and went to one further down the hall. He only spared a minute to scrub at his face and hands before he was snatching the first towel within his reach and- Mark tried not to run, really he did. The thumping footsteps were just an auditory illusion- Mark bursting into the bedroom was not. Whether he’d been speeding was still up for debate, but the sight that greeted Mark stopped him in his tracks. Jack was stretched out on his side, head propped up with his hand and one leg bent. Mark blinked a bit. “Jack?”

Brown eyes swept across the pose his boyfriend had chosen. Jack was still shirtless and that might have been the first thing Mark addressed were it not for the fact Jack was _completely_ failing at being sexy. There was a difference between “accidental model” and “accidentally sexy”, yet Jack could usually do both. “Purposefully sexy”? Not so much. Jack looked more endearing and adorable than anything as Mark gave a little snort. “Let me guess. You want me to draw you like one of my American girls?”

“I was gonna say something totally hotter than that,” Jack said, pooching out his lower lip a little more at Mark, “but kept coming up with stupid things. So how’s about we _pretend_ I said something incredibly hot and you get your ass over here so I can ravish you properly?”

“Jack, I don’t think you realize the thing you just said _is_ incredibly hot. How you manage to excel at everything by pure _accident_ is so beyond me. Please never stop.” Mark didn’t need to be asked twice, though. He tossed the towel onto a bottom corner of the bed and came at Jack like a rumbling freight train. He would have been on the bed in seconds if he didn’t make an attempt to remove his shirt while walking- grunting when the material caught around his head, _again-_ and managed to twist it off before he reached the bedside. At least it served as a nice show of muscle for his boyfriend before he was tossing the garment across the room with a flourish. Jack licking eagerly at his own lips while reaching for Mark didn’t escape him.

“Jack, I fucking _love_ seeing you without a shirt on but I think you made a specific point earlier….”

Jack groaned and flopped his hands back to the bed. “Okay… give me your shirt. It’s closest. I don’t have to wear it _now_ , but I’ll put it on before we go to sleep.”

“My shi..” Oh. _Oh._ That was a mental image Mark _really_ didn’t need right now. He wasn’t sure if it affected his heart or his dick more and that was a conundrum he rapidly decided he didn’t like. Mark stopped thinking about Jack _wearing his shirt,_ probably being swallowed up in the fabric, and just snatched it back up for him. He could gush over the sight _later,_ after they were done expelling all their built up arousal and sexual tension.

He tossed his shirt next to the towel and climbed onto the bed, meeting Jack’s lips in a kiss before he could anything else because he _needed_ it. Jack met the kiss eagerly, snaking his arms around Mark's back. When Mark pulled away, he was smiling, and the hand not supporting his weight reached up to lovingly cradle Jack’s jaw line. “Next time you wanna say something sexy, just _talk,_ Jack. Because you’ve hit two homeruns in a row already.”

“I’m only sexy around you. I’m a big derp every other time.”

“I love you for both.” Mark whispered against Jack’s lips and Jack dipped in for another kiss, taking his time to delve into Mark’s mouth, his fingers finding the scar on Mark’s back. He let Jack lead their kiss, returning it with languid licks of his tongue. The fingers on his scar no longer made him flinch. Instead, he sighed deeply into Jack’s mouth.

“You said you wanted to try something?” Jack asked when he finally pulled back to breathe.

Mark replenished his lungs with a solid inhale and smiled again. “I do…” His thumb brushed along the corner of Jack’s mouth as he met blue eyes. Then, his gaze dropped and his free hand clutched at the sheets while he tried to re-organize his thoughts. Sights and sensations of Jack straddling his lap, kissing him, came back to Mark easily and he latched onto the memories- recent or otherwise- as he spoke. “...you said you couldn’t lay on your back, right? And no walls. So… I just thought… maybe it’d be easiest if you were on top?” He glanced at Jack’s face before looking to the bedspread again and Mark licked his lips; always a sure sign he was nervous. “Like back in the living room. When you kissed me. I… I liked it. _A lot._ And I just… I wanted to try that. Some more. If that’s okay.”

“ _Oh…_ Oh _yes_ , let’s try that! Just… just tell me if you need me to get off, ‘kay?” Jack grinned, snickering at himself before he even finished his statement. “In either sense of the word.”

Jack’s enthusiasm was overwhelming as always and Mark found his eyes drawn naturally back to that excited grin. How long had Jack been waiting for Mark to offer such an opportunity? Jack’s eagerness put Mark a bit more at ease as his smile regained its usual brightness. “Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jack set his hands on Mark’s shoulders, nudging him gently, encouraging him to get in a better position and coaxing him back. Mark swallowed hard as he complied. “Just- just _careful._ Careful. I know.. you’re excited. Me too. Just…” He released a shaky sigh as he laid back with shoulders slightly propped up by the pillows. _“Please.”_

Jack climbed over Mark’s thighs and gave an wiggle nowhere near Mark’s groin. “This okay?”

Mark clutched at the sheets again- this time with both hands. He steadied his breathing while he watched Jack. Due to the sweats, Mark could easily feel Jack’s bulge rubbing lightly against his jeans. He kept his muscles taut and stared into Jack’s face; refusing to look. “Y.. yeah. Yeah. It’s okay…”

Jack cupped Mark’s face in his hands and kissed him softly. “I love you,” he intoned. “Just… just talk to me, okay? Direct me. You get full control. I’ll just sit here and look pretty until you tell me otherwise.”

Mark released another shuddery breath. ‘ _I love you too.’_ He stared into Jack’s eyes and couldn't doubt the sincerity of his words, not even if he'd wanted to. Jack was passing him the reins without hesitation- perhaps even _eagerly_ and Mark felt a little breathless.

At least until the dork he called a boyfriend started “putting on a show” for him. Jack had sat back a little, making exaggerated kissy-faces and running hands down his own bare chest while he wiggled. Mark didn't stand a chance. He broke and immediately began to giggle at the ridiculous sight before him. When he offered Jack to top, this had not been a scenario in his mind’s eye. Stupid, silly boyfriends. “If that's you ‘looking pretty’ then I'm scared to ask what you _really_ think ‘looking sexy’ is. Would it involve you dancing an Irish jig?” The laughter was _good_ for him, though. Jack must have known; bless him. The giggles had forced out some of Mark’s tension and he was able to release the sheets in favor of making grabby hands at Jack’s just-out-of-reach hips. He grunted, fingertips brushing at Jack’s knees. “Get over here. I wanna touch you. I…”

Mark forced himself to drag in some oxygen. “They wouldn't sit there. On my… my lap. My groin. They didn't want.. to feel my dick, like that, Jack. They… they sat there, like you are, or.. or higher. Up here.” Mark’s stomach; his chest. They forced themselves into his face and pinned his arms with their legs to stop him from wriggling away. Ironically, so long as Jack wasn't purposefully petting at Mark’s crotch, sitting over it was likely the least at risk of triggering a bad memory.

“I already danced a jig for you,” Jack pointed out, but he’d scooted up Mark’s legs as soon as Mark started explaining. The bulge in Jack’s pants just brushed against Mark’s and Jack bit his lip a little; ceasing his movements. “Or, at least, clicked my heels. Remember?” He looked up to meet Mark’s eyes and Mark wheezed out an amused chuckle at the happy memory.

“Oh yeah. I remember that. I think I've still got those pictures in my phone. Guess I'd better keep’em in mind for the next St. Patty’s day.” Mark’s voice had hitched briefly when Jack settled over his crotch instead- but in a good way. The steady pressure was welcoming after how long he'd been neglecting his erection. Immediately, Mark’s hands latched tight onto Jack’s hips and he kept breathing. ‘ _This is new. This is different. They_ ** _never_** _sat there. They never let me grab them. I never_ ** _wanted_** _to grab them. This is Jack, Jack,_ ** _Jack_** _and he loves me and I love him.’_

His next exhale blew out past his lips in a steady stream. Mark took a chance and wiggled his hips a bit, instantly rewarded with sparks of pleasure that curled around his groin. His toes curled as if to mimic the sensation and Mark gasped softly. “T-touch me. Jack, _touch me._ S-slowly.. _ah…”_ Mark’s chest was heaving; his muscles twitching at being so exposed but under-utilized. Mark wanted Jack’s hands on him, _all over_ him.

Jack groaned and leaned forward, recreating Mark’s position earlier on the couch. He let their groins press together, rubbing up against him as he set his hands on Mark’s stomach and slid upward, feeling him out.

“ _Jesus_ , Mark, your body is incredible.” Jack spread his hands across scars and unblemished skin. He traced one scar down its length and circled Mark’s nipple while his other hand kept moving, stroking over Mark’s body.

Mark moaned, and he wasn't sure if it was from Jack’s hands or his dick but there was a lot of good feelings sliding beneath his skin. Feelings he grabbed onto and held close lest the bad ones try to take precedence, because Mark was using every sensory cue he had to keep his brain aware that _Jack_ was the one on top of him. The padding beneath his back was their bed and there were old, wooden beams stretching out over their heads. He wasn't in the room, and he wasn't with **_them._**

He couldn't risk closing his eyes, even as they fluttered from the tingling pleasure Jack was providing. Mark forced them open and kept them on Jack’s face. He wanted to watch Jack’s hands, to know where they were going, but he might stop seeing _Jack’s_ hands and start seeing another’s that had marked the same paths months ago and he couldn't let that happen. Instead, Mark let Jack surprise him while his thumbs rubbed circles into the hollows of Jack’s hips. He squeezed when his nipple was teased and arched up into the touch with a soft gasp. His own hips, subsequently, rolled up as his dick give a happy jump in its confines. “ _There._ Jack, touch me there Jack _please_. J-just your hands, I… I need to see…” His face. Mark loved Jack’s mouth but he needed to keep eyes on his face.

Jack’s other hand settled over Mark's nipple as well, flicking over the tight buds, rolling them between his fingers, giving the occasional pinch immediately soothed by gentle rubbing. He rocked his own hips, sketching little circles that drove their dicks together. He groaned with each thrust, matching Mark's rhythm. Jack licked his lips and Mark could _feel_ blue eyes roving over his body. “Beautiful…”

_“Jack,”_ came Mark’s response to the compliment ; pitched higher with his breathlessness. His skin was flushed all the way down to his collar bones. Mark felt hot all over and writhing beneath Jack’s weight only made it worse. He could already feel sweat forming on his skin and it helped Jack’s hands along; created less friction. Except friction didn't matter when it came to Jack teasing at his nipples. They might as well have been joysticks for how they made Mark roll and jump. **_“Jack.”_**

At times like these, it was difficult for Mark to say much else, but he was rock hard in his jeans and Jack was grinding against him in a way that spoke volumes. Jack wanted more. They _both_ wanted more but Jack needed the go-ahead from Mark and he shook his head. Jack wasn't in the right spot; he could feel it. Their bulges together felt _great_ , but Mark knew there was a better way, something he'd been slow to pick up on but taken advantage of at least once. “Jack.” Mark breathed again as he dragged his boyfriend forward a few inches. Their dicks ground together in the best possible way, producing a low, throaty groan from him. When he stopped tugging, Jack’s ass was firmly resting over Mark’s concealed erection. He stared up into Jack’s eyes with his own darkened by lust and Mark gave a little buck of his hips into that space he'd discovered. _“Move.”_

Jack gasped, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, but then rocked his hips back against Mark. It seemed to take him a minute to figure out a rhythm, leaning heavily on Mark’s chest, but he eventually was able to lift himself up, dragging his ass over Mark’s denim-clad erection and pushing down as if Mark was actually fucking into him. Jack groaned deep in his chest and panted out soft whimpers with every thrust. His eyes opened again, pupils blown wide with his desire, staring down at Mark as he rolled his body. “Fuck, Mark, _fuck…_ ”

It was awkward at first. Neither of them had done this before- well, in their particular positions. Mark knew how to do what Jack was doing- had done it dozens of times in the room for those men- but controlling his hips from beneath and doing his best to keep Jack balanced just right over his pelvis was new (and exciting).

Mark had control, even still. The hands on Jack’s hips could force him to stop at any time; shove him off. Mark had that option and it meant _the world_ to him but he rocked them through the motions for a minute or two. He arched into the hands pressed against his chest and echoed Jack’s desperate groans. Sweat was definitely trickling down his body now as it felt his jeans were fit to burst and Mark couldn't take it. If he didn't do something, he was going to _die._ “Jack.” He wheezed again, making those hips still. “Jack, I need..” He started to pull Jack further up to free his jeans, but felt his heart stutter with anxiety. Nope. Mark pushed him down instead but that didn't really solve the dilemma and in the end he just wound up dragging their erections together. Jack yelped and moaned while he was manhandled, letting Mark move him without any resistance until Mark groaned in a mixture of arousal and frustration. _“Pants._ Pants, Jack, my jea- m-my fucking- dammit-” Why were words so hard during sex?

Jack ground against Mark’s dick and gave a breathless laugh. “Gotcha, I gotcha, I got this…” Jack stopped rocking against Mark’s pelvis so he could drag his hands away from Mark’s chest. He was still panting heavily, his pale skin flushed as he touched Mark’s fly, pressed his hand against the bulge there, then pushed the button loose. The zip practically slid down on its own from how hard Mark’s dick was pushing up against it.

“Fuck….” Thank god _one_ of them could still think coherently. Mark swore the sweetest relief was popping the button on his jeans. If only he could wear sweats or track pants around Jack all the time instead. (Jack liked him in jeans because they emphasized his butt better. The feeling was mutual.)

Mark breathed a hefty sigh as the strain was taken off his groin. “Than _nghnks-_ ** _Jack!_** ” There were fingers tracing along the outline of his dick, pressing one to the tip and it made him bodily lift off the mattress with a strangled sound. Jack was already retreating to grab at the waist of Mark’s jeans instead.

“Hips up…” Jack lifted himself off of Mark to give himself room to maneuver, tugging Mark’s jeans down his hips and reaching behind him to pull them down his thighs. Kicking off the jeans was a bit of a project for Mark but he managed it after several harsh kicks. He couldn't care less where they fell.

Jack licked his lips again, still hovering over Mark. “Good?” he asked. “Good? Too much? More?”

Jack was looking down at Mark’s dick with a hunger Mark knew he'd shown back in the living room. It wasn't the malice and smug, conniving expression **_they_** always wore when looking at him. Jack didn't want to _use_ him. Any actions he desired were for their mutual pleasure- or even _Mark’s alone_ and that knowledge was breathtaking. He needed a minute just to _think_ of what he wanted through the haze of lustful appreciation; how he could make things good for both of them.

Mark’s hands eventually settled back on Jack’s hips with a newfound gentleness and he stroked his thumbs over the smooth skin just above Jack’s waistband. Though his brown eyes were still blown wide and unfocused, they looked to Jack with an unbridled affection. He breathed, beads of sweat trickling down his flushed chest and neck, but he found his words. “I'm okay. I'm okay, Jack. I love you. I… Jack. I want to know. Please tell me… it's okay…. What do _you_ want? Tell me what you want me to do- what _you_ want to do. To me.”

“What _I_ want?” Jack asked with a laugh. “Mark, I _want_ more than I know you can give. I want us to be naked, to feel your body without _any_ clothes between us. I want…” His blush grew darker, crawling down his chest, but Jack pressed on. “I _want_ you inside me, either… either my ass or… or want to suck you off. I want…”

“I know that, Jack.” Of course Jack wanted things beyond Mark’s current capabilities. He might have been a little dense, but it didn't take a genius to sort out his boyfriend’s desires. Things his own body ached to do but couldn't- not yet. Mark’s flush deepened to mimic Jack’s as he went into detail about each particular fantasy. They all sounded tempting.

Mark knew he wouldn't be able to give Jack any of them.

Then Jack trailed off and smiled, cocking his head to the side. “I want to kiss you. I _really_ want to kiss you.” He slid his hands up Mark’s chest, sinking back down to straddle Mark’s groin with a soft, drawn-out moan.

Kissing; Mark could do that. He tugged Jack forward a few more inches. “Then kiss me. And tell me what you want that I _can_ do. That we've done. Jack, anything _you_ do at this point is gonna get me off. I don't care if it's your mouth or your dick or your ass- god _fuck_ do I love your ass; wiggle it some more- on me. It'll do the job. I want to know how _you_ want it. How you want us to get off here; like this. Together. Jack…” There was endeared longing in Mark’s eyes and tone. His hands had finally released Jack only to grab at him again; hands and arms wrapping around their paler counterparts to drag their owner closer. “Please. That's what I want.”

Jack wiggled for Mark, rubbing over Mark’s hard erection, giggling under his breath. He leaned forward, leaned over Mark with their arms intertwined, trapping his own dick between their bodies as he ground back against Mark’s. He pressed their mouths together, the kiss sloppy and hot and threatening to consume them both.

He drew away from Mark’s mouth and ran his tongue over his lips. “ _Fuck me,_ ” he whispered, meeting Mark’s eyes. “Like this.” He arched his back again, rubbing his ass against the bulge in Mark’s underwear. “Make me feel you through our clothes.”

There was a prolonged moment where Mark simply couldn't breathe. Jack was kissing him; stealing his breath away with every thrust of his hips. His weight was pressing down on him and their arms were tangled together fast. He didn't have the coordination to pull away. Mark might have started to panic if blue eyes didn't abruptly suck him in, if Jack didn't whisper those two little words- _“fuck me”-_ against his lips. He was shaken to the core and any misconceptions about what might be going on were shaken off with it.

His breaths were short and quick from his mouth while he clutched at Jack and there was a pounding in his head that synced up with the one in his cock. Above him, Jack was a gorgeous haze of blues and greens and bright pink lips and hot flushed skin and his heart ached (so did his dick). Mark managed to worm an arm free through much trial and error and it immediately slipped between them to cup tenderly at Jack’s face. He was still panting heavily, but his brown eyes had softened. “...okay. Okay, I can.. I can do that. _I can._ Jack. Jack, just… let me lead, okay? Y-you can move, you don't have to stop yourself. But let me lead. Is that okay? Can you do that?” Mark searched Jack’s face for any sign of uncertainty or discomfort. He was so, _so_ scared to do something wrong; to fuck up. Even if it was more likely for Jack to step on a metaphorical landmine, he didn't want a repeat of _that_ night.

Jack nodded over Mark, using his now-free arm to brace against the bed. “I love you,” he told Mark, leaning in to brush their lips together. “Okay? _I love you_. If you need me to get off, I’m okay with that. I _am_. Just tell me.”

Mark stared into Jack’s eyes a few moments longer, then sighed. The tension that had started building up in him again dissipated with the onset of relief and he pushed up to kiss at Jack’s lips once more. “I love you. Thank you.” His thumb stroked along the arch of Jack’s cheek bone and he stole one last kiss before leaning back into the pillows again. Dislodging both arms this time, Mark let them smooth around to Jack’s back. His fingers lingered at Jack’s tattoo, tracing the letters there and the ensuing sensation on his fingertips made his heart swell as Jack shivered and whined. Quickly, Mark slid his hands lower until they could briefly grope Jack’s ass through his sweats. “Thank you for being so patient.” Renewing his grip on Jack’s hips, Mark tried to remember the rhythm they'd had going while Jack dipped his head to nose against Mark’s neck, bracing himself with both forearms against the bed.

“Hang on.” For once, it wasn't a cue for pause, but instead a suggestion. Seconds later Mark was rolling his hips up into the cleft of Jack’s ass. Besides slightly rocking him back and forth, Mark’s hands primarily held Jack steady over his groin. He gasped, throwing his head back as his eyelids fluttered. _“Jack._ Fuck, _Jack._ Feel so.. feel so.. _nngh,_ good. Amazing. _Awesome_. Kiss me, Jack.”

Mark’s first thrust drew another whine from Jack’s throat, his mouth hanging open while he panted sloppily against Mark’s neck. He shoved off the bed so he could lean forward and meet Mark’s mouth again, kissing him hard.

_‘Jack, Jack, Jack,_ ** _Jack.’_** Mark couldn't say it, not when Jack’s mouth had his own captive in a suffocating kiss. It was all he could think. Breathing and moving had been relegated to auto-pilot tasks as he let his body take over. It knew what it wanted and it knew it was safe to take it.

So he did. Mark rocked and thrusted against Jack- _into_ Jack- with a growing fervor that eventually lost any sense of rhythm. It was just Jack and himself; their lips; hands on hips and endless friction as they came together, over and over. Mark was practically bucking Jack off the bed when he drew close to his orgasm. Wheezing through his nose, nails digging into Jack's hips, Mark sunk his teeth into Jack’s bottom lip and came hard against his boyfriend’s ass. He whined: jerky, high-pitched and loud while his nails clamored at Jack’s hips and back. Mark’s muscles spasmed and tensed beneath Jack while he rode out his orgasm and it was _mind blowing._

Mark settled back into his body in breaths and inches. For a while, he was only aware of Jack and the fluffy tingle flowing steadily from head to fingers to toes. He could vaguely make out Jack’s breathless giggles and the way Jack’s stubble tickled at his cheek. Sluggishly, he wrapped his arms around the body pressed to his own and kissed sloppily at Jack’s ear, rumbling out a contented hum from deep in his chest. “ _Mine._ Mine, mine, mine, mine, miiiiiiine~” he cooed almost drunkenly. Mark didn't care if he sounded like a selfish little kid. He loved Jack, and Jack loved him, and they didn't belong to anyone. Only their hearts belonged to each other. “Losers.”

Jack’s little giggles turned into full-fledged laughter. He kissed and nipped at Mark’s shoulder, nodding along with the words. “Yours, yours, yours…and you’re mine, mine, mine…” Abruptly, he stiffened, then pushed himself up a little to look down at Mark. “Did you put Chica to bed?”

“Mmmm…? Chica? Whaddya mean bed? Animatronics don't… don't… oh.” Mark blinked as some clarity returned to his eyes, then tensed as well with a grimace. “Oh. Crap. No, I didn't. I didn't even- fuck. Jack, we gotta…”

Jack groaned, flopping off Mark and onto his side. “Gotta set the alarm too. Uggggh...I can do it. If you want to stay here.” He leaned in to kiss Mark’s cheek. “Gotta change my pants anyway…”

“Have I told you that you're literally the best boyfriend in the world? In the history of forever and ever? Because you are. And I love you. Like a lot. A lot a lot. Jack. Jack, don't take too long okay? I wanna cuddle. My cuddle meter is criminally empty right now _Jaaaack.”_ Mark’s hands stubbornly clung to Jack even as he pulled away. He knew Jack had to get up, but his body didn't want him to go.

Jack tugged at Mark’s hands, pressing his lips to each of Mark’s knuckles while he worked himself off the bed. “While I am gone, you change your pants and warm the bed up, kay? Give me a nice warm cuddle-nest to return to.” He kissed Mark’s fingertips and finally got to his feet, picking up the towel. “Also, I’m not gonna bother with changing in the bathroom. Don’t look if you don’t wanna see the Jackabooty.”

Mark sighed forlornly. “Okay. Okay, I'll get the bed ready for you. Just hurry back.” He huffed with a little pout but forced himself to look away from Jack. Much as he loved his boyfriend’s ass, he didn't trust himself to see it bare just yet. Asses weren't so easy to distinguish, especially after he'd just achieved climax.

A minute or two later, a fresh pair of boxers was landing on his feet. He spied Jack when he went to the door and was dressed again, and his heart pulled a somersault when he recognized his own shirt on narrow shoulders. Mark had forgotten all about it. “Jack….” He waited until he had his boyfriend’s attention before continuing, an affectionate little smile on his face. “...that is so huge on you I think I might just _die._ ”

“I’m supposed to wear loose-fitting clothing,” Jack sniffed, sticking his nose in the air before collapsing into a grin. He hugged his arms around himself and snuggled down into the shirt. “Also it smells like you. Like I’m taking your hug with me. Shuddup. You get the bed-hugs.”

Mark snorted. “Guess it's a good thing your boyfriend is just so damn ripped then, huh?” He beamed lazily at Jack from the bed. The Irishman was being so damn cute, snuggling into his shirt like that. Mark just wanted to cuddle him, but unfortunately pets came with responsibility and Mark was lucky Jack had offered to take care of Chica. He flopped down with a hefty sigh and laid the back of his hand across his forehead dramatically. “Oh woe is me. Forced to wait for the bed-hugs. Unless you mean _your_ smell. ‘Cause… yeah. Yeah, that's kind of everywhere. _Awesome._ ” He pressed his nose into the pillow and closed his eyes as he breathed. He would have gladly rolled over to bury his face in Jack’s pillow but his boxers were still undeniably squishy.

“Oh Mark, there are _many_ reasons why it’s a good thing you’re so damn ripped. I mean, hot _damn_ , boy! I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Jack said. “And I’ll knock first.”

“Sean McLoughlin: luckiest leprechaun alive!” Mark called after Jack.

He let himself stretch out for a little longer until he could no longer ignore the cold stickiness on his crotch and sighed. “Time to clean up. God, fuck whoever got to decide this stuff always ends so messy,” he grumbled and pushed himself to his feet. Grimacing and hoping his cum wouldn't drip down the inside of his leg, Mark tried to keep a majority of it in his boxers as he slipped them off. _“Eugh._ There's gotta be a better way; gotta be a better way.”

After cleaning himself off, Mark balled up both underwear and towel into a dirty pile. He tossed the mess into the hamper. Fresh boxers and pajama pants came next. Cum-free and about as clean as he could get without a shower, Mark flopped bonelessly back onto the bed. He sighed and let the exhale take all his tension with it. “Still warm….” He breathed in. ‘ _Still smells like Jack, too.’_ Except Jack wasn't _there._ Mark forced himself to be patient and _not_ go tracking down his boyfriend. Jack asked him to make the best, warmest cuddle-nest possible and he wasn't going to disappoint.

By the time he heard a knock, Mark had piled up their pillows and blankets into a respectable little fort. There was enough of a divot in the middle of it all for both of them to snuggle down. Clambering back into the bed and beneath the big duvet, Mark didn't bother looking sexy for once. He just looked cute: surrounded by the mess he'd made of their bed and beaming at Jack expectantly when he finally entered. “Get in here and cuddle me, you tiny Irish bastard.”

Jack pushed the door open and his eyes went wide. “Chica’s settled, alarm is on, and you are too tempting to resist.” He eased himself under the blankets, settling against Mark’s chest with a sigh. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Mark’s arms folded around him. “Mm. Best day so far. I love you. Thank you.”

“Could say the same about you in that shirt. Or all the time.” Mark made his tone sappy to the point of being cheesy on purpose because he was in a great mood. He was warm, comfortable, sated after a fantastic orgasm and pressed against an armful of Jack. Mark nuzzled his face into Jack’s hair with a smile. ‘ _So much better.’_ Giving a content little sigh, Mark let one of his hands slide down to linger at Jack’s lower back. The pressure he applied was almost non-existent, but it was there. “Love you too. And thanks, ‘cause I couldn't have made it the best without you. Wouldn't want to.” He kissed Jack’s hair and squeezed him close. “G’night, Jack.”

“Maybe I’ll wear your clothes more often.” Jack’s arms slid around Mark’s body, covering the SM on Mark’s back with a hand and mimicking Mark’s position. “Good night, Mark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	82. 8/31: It's Over, Isn't It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has an appointment with Dr. Agon.

Even months after escaping the room, Mark was still subject to routine hospital visits. He had frequent blood tests and monthly consultations with Dr. Agon. The physician had kept Mark on a strict antibiotic regimen and monitored his health carefully. So long as he was still displaying symptoms of pneumonia, no matter how minor, Dr. Agon continued to renew his medical visa. Jack always accompanied Mark to the hospital, but he stayed in the waiting room.

This visit, however, already seemed different. Dr. Agon was stroking his chin while he studied Mark’s chest x-ray from ten minutes earlier. “Well, Mark, it would seem I have some news for you.” He had already listened to Mark’s lungs and checked his blood work. His face was solemn, but that wasn’t unusual for the quiet doctor.

“I'm gonna be going home, aren't I?”

Mark knew. He could tell from Dr. Agon’s body language and the way he started the conversation. They'd already discussed Mark nearing the end of his recovery at his last appointment.

Over the course of the last few months, Dr. Agon had become much more than just a physician to Mark. They'd discussed his mental and emotional health at several appointments as well and the older man was like another therapist, almost. Except Mark wasn't nearly so anxious around him (and in his opinion, he gave much better general advice). They were practically friends by this point and the doctor had done a lot to perhaps keep Mark in the country longer than strictly necessary. He understood how important Jack was to Mark’s recovery, but it couldn't last forever. Now, after all the time he'd spent sitting on an examination table before the doctor, Mark knew his time was up. Just… not in the way that usually meant, in terms of hospital visits. “I'm better. I don't have pneumonia anymore.”

“I can’t find a single indication, except for some mild scarring to your lungs, but that is not a symptom so much as a side effect.” Dr. Agon turned to face him. “You’re physically healed, Mark, as much as medicine can do for you. There is no reason to bar you from a trans-Atlantic flight anymore.” He gave Mark a soft smile. “You can go home.” It wasn’t what Mark wanted to hear.

Mark knew he shouldn't be completely disappointed. He was healthy again, he could go home. He could finally see his house, his moms, his friends. He could sleep in his own bed again and go swimming in his pool- well, once he got it cleaned. It was probably a mess.

That was just it. Mark _wasn't_ going “home”- not anymore. L.A. hadn't been home to him in a long time. Home was an old wooden cabin by the river. Home was a flourishing garden on a chilly Irish morning with Chica bounding through the dew-coated grass and home was with Jack. His boyfriend; the man he'd come to love more than anything. Jack wouldn't be coming with him, or if he did, he couldn't stay. He needed a visa much as Mark did. Mark should be giddy with relief and excitement, but all he could do was try not to cry. Dr. Agon had enough on his plate as it was and _still_ tried to help Mark be positive.

He attempted to smile for the doctor, at least, even if it trembled at the edges. Mark didn't trust his voice at first, but felt it steady enough after a few calculated breaths. “That's… that's great. Fantastic. I'm… I'm going home. This is great news.” It didn't feel like it. “So… if you're not renewing my visa, how long do I have? I mean, to get sorted out for the trip. For home.” He wished he meant the cabin.

“Your visa is set to expire on the eighteenth,” Dr. Agon said. “However, I don’t encourage you to wait until the last day. The immigration officials don’t have much sympathy for excuses for overstaying your visa, even if it is for something as uncontrollable as a delayed flight.” The older man gave a soft sigh. “I am sorry, Mark. I know you’ve started making a home here. I wish there were more I could do to help you.”

“Christ….” Mark dragged fingers through his hair as he stared down at his lap. _The eighteenth._ That wasn’t even three weeks. Fifteen, sixteen or so days left with Jack? That was it? Mark wouldn’t let himself panic. He’d deal with the anxiety, but he refused to have an attack. He took a long round of deep breaths and eventually managed to coax his tense fingers out of his hair. “Dr. Agon…”

He shook his head. Mark pressed both palms hard against his knees to stop his hands from doing anymore damage. “...you’ve already done a lot for me, Dr. Agon. More than some other doctors might’ve bothered. I know I could have possibly gone home a month ago. Maybe even sooner. And… and I really appreciate it. Everything you’ve done. Even when it was just hearing me out on a bad day. I’m…” He squeezed at his jeans. Mark could feel the swell of emotions egging on a reaction but he _wouldn’t cry,_ dammit. “I’m gonna miss a lot of things about Ireland. And I want you to know you’re on that list. You’re probably the best doctor I’ve ever had, and I’m so… I’m so grateful…” No, no, no- well there went the water works, he really was hopeless.

“Mark…” Dr. Agon crossed the room to pick up a box of tissues and brought them back to set beside Mark. He then took a seat on the other side of the small exam room. “Short of a complete health disaster on your part, which I fervently hope does _not_ happen, this will be our last appointment. There is a personal story I have wanted to share with you, but I felt it wasn’t entirely appropriate while I was also your doctor. However, if you are healed, I am not your doctor any longer. I do know your proclivity to tears, though, and I’m fairly certain it will push you into needing more of those tissues. Would you like to hear it?”

Mark managed to mumble out a thank you as he immediately took several tissues from the box. While he worked to clean up the results of his over-emotional blubbering, he did his best to listen. Dr. Agon had never made mention of anything like this before. He could be preparing to tell Mark _anything-_ something with a distinct chance to further level what weak tear dams Mark had.

However, Mark wasn’t exaggerating about how much he appreciated everything Dr. Agon had done for him since becoming his doctor. Even before he was discharged from the hospital, Dr. Agon had been nothing but patient and accommodating, and it meant a lot to Mark. The least he could do was hear the doctor out. Apparently, he’d been saving this particular story for a long time. Mark blew his nose, took a deep breath and looked to his physician with bleary, tear-bright eyes. “Y-yeah. Yeah… you can tell me, doc.”

Dr. Agon took a deep breath, clearly steeling himself for the story. “Three years ago, my wife was killed in a car accident. My daughter, Emma, was thirteen at the time, and utterly devastated, and I… I felt like I had lost both of the women I loved the most.”

Mark immediately wanted to give his condolences, but he held his tongue. He might fail to read the atmosphere at times but he _knew_ when a story required no interruptions. He would let Dr. Agon say his piece and save his comments for the end.

“But then, after about a year, I came home one night to hear Emma laughing again, the first time I had heard her laugh since the accident. It was such an unexpected sound that I had to ask her _why_. There was this YouTuber she had started to follow, and he had started playing this game about defending a grocery store aisle as a crotchety old man…” Dr. Agon smiled softly at his hands, then glanced up at Mark. “She vets all your videos before sharing them with me, but we’ve made a point of watching at least one of them together every week since then. It has been an honor, Markiplier, to help restore you to life after all you have done for my Emma.”

What an end it was. Of all the “stories” Mark had taken into consideration, a tale like that wasn’t one of them. Dr. Agon had concealed the fact he already _knew_ Markiplier so well he never would have guessed he had family who were fans. Or that they’d be one of the hundreds who addressed Mark with similar stories of finding support and comfort in his videos. “Emma” wasn’t the first, but after his time with Dr. Agon, something about _her_ story in particular gained a personal touch. Dr. Agon hadn’t guessed wrong. Mark was still crying, though thankfully not outright _sobbing._

He scrubbed at his face with another tissue (there was a small pile beside him on the table) and sniffled horrendously. “Y-you’re welcome. Really. Even though it’s just… I-I just make videos. I’m always so shell-shocked when I hear stuff like this. About things they’ve done for other people- things _I’ve_ done. I’m just… I’m just a normal guy making st-stupid videos. But… but if they helped your daughter, then I’m glad. She has a r-really great dad.” Mark cracked a watery smile. “How’d you ever manage to keep this from her?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Dr. Agon said with a smile. “I _am_ a professional. She doesn’t know that you’re my patient, though she did find out from the news stories that you were treated at my hospital and has begged me every day to get your autograph. She’s also tried to run into you in the city, though I know you don’t go out much. She did manage to run into Jacksepticeye once and was very disappointed you weren’t with him, though she treasures the selfie she got with him.”

Mark gave another sniffle. He took a moment to try and blow his nose again. Once he’d collected himself a little better and wasn’t crying anymore, he spoke. “Well… you’re not my doctor anymore, r-right? So… I’d love to get her that autograph. In fact… if it’s all right, I wouldn’t mind meeting her. Before I left Ireland. I’ve gotten better at dealing with people, and… I’d like to meet her.” As a bonus, it would give Mark a refresher on how to deal with a fan. He hadn’t encountered any in person since the convention and he knew that wouldn’t last once he got back to L.A.

“Emma would love that. It would mean a lot to her. Thank you, Mark. We will have to figure out how to arrange a meeting, before you return.”

Mark nodded and took a few more deep breaths. He'd managed to calm down for the most part; his tears had stopped so all he had to do was get his soft hiccuping under control. Lightly wringing a damp tissue in his hands, Mark forced himself to get them back on topic. “...so… home. Right. I'm guessing you've got some guidelines for me? You said there was scarring in my lungs….” He knew that sounded worse than it probably was but the thought was still a little bit terrifying.

“Yes. It sounds much worse than it is. Your case is incredibly minor, which is impressive considering the severity of your condition when you were first brought in. It shouldn't affect your daily life in the least. Try to minimize exposure to conditions that would make breathing difficult, especially cold and damp. By that, I simply mean don't move to a swamp, and mountain climbing is probably out. If you do live in a humid environment, make sure you have dehumidifiers for your home. If you feel a tightness in your chest when breathing, you may want to talk to your doctor about an inhaler, but I doubt that will be an issue unless you decide to take up winter outdoor jogging or smoking. Don't smoke.” Dr. Agon fixed Mark with a stern stare at that.

“In short: it shouldn't affect your current lifestyle, even with the rock climbing and taking your dog on runs. As I said, your case is _very_ minimal. I'd honestly be surprised if you noticed anything. It may come up in future chest x-rays, but I can make sure all your records here are transferred to your usual physician so there is no cause for alarm.”

Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, it felt a lot more profound after hearing so much about his lungs. He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could feel that scarring as well, but of course he couldn’t. While still physical, those scars were like the ones on his mind. Invisible, but never going away. At least these scars wouldn’t pose too great of an effect on his daily life. Just a few restrictions Mark had never considered dabbling with in the first place. He coaxed up a smile for the doctor. “No smoking or mountain climbing; cool it in the winter. Watch the humidity. Got it. I live in Los Angeles so I don’t think that last one should be a problem. It’s wetter here.”

“And if you haven't had a problem yet, you very likely won't. Finish your antibiotics as prescribed, but don't worry about a refill. Any further questions?”

Mark rubbed a little anxiously at the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Just one. Um… so doc, I know you’re not technically gonna be _my_ doctor anymore, but…. Would it still be okay to shoot you an email now and then? If anything seems wrong, I mean.” It wasn’t that Mark didn’t _trust_ his doctor back home. He’d just formed a strong connection with Dr. Agon and his desire to maintain that connection stemmed from more than any possible health concerns.

Dr. Agon smiled warmly at Mark. “I won't be able to give you prescriptions and shouldn't give you medical advice, as I am not licensed to practice in the U.S., but yes, you can ask me any questions you may have, and I'll do my best to advise you appropriately.”

The relief returned in a rush and Mark got to his feet. “Thanks, doc. I’m really gonna miss you. Just hit me up with whenever Emma’s available for a meet and greet, okay? Besides getting ready for the move I’m probably not gonna have a lot on my schedule anyway….” It was still a sombering thought, but Mark wouldn’t allow it to dampen possibly his last appointment with Dr. Agon. The older man promised to email him as soon as possible and gave him a firm handshake.

Mark almost left it at that, but in the last moment he worked up enough courage to transition the handshake into a hug. A _professional_ hug, he assured the doctor. Dr. Agon had only chuckled at him and returned it with a few pats on the back. They both knew that no matter what happened in the coming months, Mark was going to be okay.

Now it was just a matter of breaking the news to Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	83. 8/31: Making Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gives Jack the news.

Mark shook his head when he approached Jack in the waiting room and spied the immediate concern forming in blue eyes. He didn’t want to discuss the inevitable there, where Jack couldn’t hold him or kiss him and vice-versa. He carried that attitude throughout the bus ride home, though he repeatedly let their bodies brush together in search of comfort. As soon as they were in the relative privacy of their street, Mark laced his fingers with Jack’s, and Jack squeezed his hand. They’d get through this together, Mark told himself. They always did.

At home, Jack kissed Mark’s cheek- still red from crying- and went into the kitchen to make tea without being asked. Mark ventured out into the garden he’d come to cherish. Chica trailed along after him, sensing his unease, and he sat with her beneath the willow to wait. Eventually, Jack brought out the mugs and offered Mark a cheeky kitten one before sitting beside him. His arm wrapped around Mark’s back, but he said nothing, waiting for Mark to speak.

Mark leaned into Jack’s side immediately and pressed close as their bodies would allow while his hands gratefully cradled the warm mug. Chica was equally snug against his other side; panting gently. It was a pleasant afternoon with lots of clouds but not too much wind and occasionally the sunlight would break through to dapple their little shelter with spots of gold. Mark took a moment to admire the way they gleamed off of Jack’s green hair and his heart began to ache anew.

He decided it would be best to just get right to the point. He’d postponed the inevitable long enough. ‘ _Just make it like ripping off a band-aid.’_ He drew a breath. “Jack….” His voice wavered, and he dropped his gaze down to the milky brown swirling in his cup. “...you probably already know what I’m gonna say here. You probably knew when you saw my face, I… Jack. Dr. Agon says I’m healed. He says there isn’t enough damage or illness anymore for him to renew my medical visa, I, Jack…. They’re gonna send me back to L.A.” Not home. That still wasn’t his home anymore because home was _here._ Home was with Jack and he could already feel himself beginning to choke up again as those thoughts resurfaced.

“I'm glad you're healed,” Jack said after a pause, his voice tight. Jack took a deep breath, leaning over to rest his head on Mark's shoulder.

“Me too.” It wasn’t a lie. Healing was a good thing. Mark only wished it didn’t bring so much heartache along with it.

“How long?” Jack asked. “How much longer do I get to keep you to myself?”

Subconsciously, Mark tilted his head to press his cheek against Jack’s hair. It was a natural position for them after all these months spent together and Chica, sensing the distress of her human children, shifted to rest her head on Mark’s lap. The gesture brought a small smile to his lips and he rewarded her with a few ear scratches. “...the eighteenth, he said. Recommended I leave a bit sooner, though. In case there’s any delays. Guess immigration gets pissy if you stick around past your deadline. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”

“The eighteenth!? That's not even a full month… What am I going to do without you?” Jack asked quietly. “The house'll be too big...fuck, the garden'll fall apart!”

“I know….” Mark felt more than saw Jack turn into him and his heart sank. “Jack…” The name went unheeded as his boyfriend went on, voicing Mark’s own dark thoughts and expressing his concerns. He shook his head and set the tea aside carefully as he could on the grass because he needed both arms for this conversation. “Jack.”

He pulled Jack into a hug- minding the other mug- and kissed at his hair. “...I don’t want to go, either. But I have to. We knew this was gonna happen. I… we’ll figure something out. We _always_ do. You survived without me for years….” Except that was before they experienced such a powerfully deep, requited love. Before they became so attached. Mark felt his lips trembling and quickly moved on. “Maybe you could get a dog. You get along well with Chica, and.. the house wouldn’t seem so big-” _Empty._ That was the word. “-then. And… and I can set up the garden before I go. Harvest the rest of the vegetables. It’ll take at least a year for it to seriously overgrow….” Mark said it as if he would be coming back; he _had_ to be coming back.

“If I'm on my own, I don't have enough discipline for a dog,” Jack confessed.

“...hope you weren’t expecting me to argue with that one.” Jack was right, he was far too lenient with Chica already. Owning a dog on his own would spell disaster.

Jack set his mug aside and wrapped his arms around Mark. One hand settled automatically over the SM hidden beneath Mark's shirt. “...I want you to find me a gardener. Someone who can take care of things the way you'd want it, when you're not here.”

Mark’s back muscles twitched minutely at the familiar touch, and after a moment his own fingers wandered down to mimic the gesture. He squeezed at Jack and pressed a smile into his hair. “Okay. Okay, I’ll add it to the to-do list. Find Jack a really awesome gardener that loves plants and isn’t too hot.”

Jack snorted and shook his head. “You're worried about _my_ eyes wandering? You're gonna be back in L.A., land of the movie stars. And Tyler. And the Grumps. _Danny._ ”

Mark giggled a bit, but Jack’s words served as a happy reminder. Yes, he might be leaving all of this behind. However, he would be seeing his other friends again; people he hadn’t spoken to in person for almost a year. Sometimes he forgot just how much he missed them. Going back wouldn’t be all bad.

Jack turned his head to kiss Mark's neck. “I...I can come with you, for a bit,” he confessed. “I've known this was coming, so Robin's been helping me knock out some extra videos. If I really buckle down these next couple of days, I can take...probably a week off. Plus travel. So I can come with you on the flight, at least, and make sure you get settled in back home…”

The kiss coaxed out one more little giggle but then Mark was pulling back from Jack to look at him. Shock and awe were clear as day on Mark’s face when he gripped his boyfriend by the biceps and it took him a moment to put his jumble of excited, stunned thoughts into a coherent sentence or two. “What?? Really? You’re gonna come to L.A. with me?”

Jack cocked his head to the side, looking up at Mark with innocent blue eyes. “What, you thought I'd just kiss you goodbye at the airport and leave you to fend for yourself? Of course I'm coming to L.A., if only to make sure you have the correct tea-making supplies in your kitchen.” He leaned in to kiss Mark again, bringing their mouths together over and over again. “It's also,” he murmured against Mark's lips, “the _biggest_ change you've been through. I'm not going to make you face it alone.”

Mark melted, just like that. His hands slipped down Jack’s arms to grasp at knobby fingers and he leaned in, meeting Jack for every kiss. He never let their lips linger more than a scant inch or two apart. Another week. That added up to about a month more of kissing Jack like this: of holding him with his hands, in his arms. Mark squeezed tight at Jack’s hands as he tried hard to tamp down on the rising swell of emotions in his chest. “Jack… Jack, I love you. _Fuck,_ I fucking love you, I wish I didn’t have to go. I wish we could just stay together like this god I’ve never hated the ocean so much. The ocean needs to suck my dick, Jack. I don’t want you so far away.”

“The ocean doesn't get to suck your dick before I get to,” Jack grumbled, squeezing their hands together and meeting him kiss for kiss.

Mark sputtered, but there was a chuckle in it. He shook his head and finally stopped kissing Jack so he could bury a grin into green locks again. “Promise you’ll be the first. Don’t worry.”

“I love you, Mark. I _do_. And we...we can try to make a long-distance relationship work. It's not like we didn't talk to each other a lot before all this went down. We can do it again. We just won't be sleeping together…”

Mark folded himself in against Jack, tea forgotten, and did his best to focus on the moment. He wanted to lock up every part of _home_ into his memory before he had to leave- Jack included. “That’s gonna be so fucking hard, Jack. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. How am I gonna go a day without kissing you?” A week? Months? Just thinking about the lack of _Jack_ in his life was making his skin itch.

“It sucks, but you'll get intimately acquainted with your hand again.” Jack sighed, burrowing into Mark's neck. “And when we _are_ in the same place again, it'll be that much more incredible for the wait. It really will. And there's always Skype. Or sexting.”

“It’s not the sexual relief I’m worried about.” Mark gently dragged his chin through Jack’s hair since his hands were too busy to perform the soothing gesture. He pressed another kiss to Jack’s head and released a sigh through his nose. When he spoke again, the words were murmured into Jack’s shock of green. “I’m going to miss _you._ I’m going to miss kissing you, and holding you, and cuddling with you just about anywhere. I’m gonna miss waking up in the morning and immediately seeing your face. I’m gonna miss running my hands through your hair and god this sounds so fucking gay but I don’t even care. It’s true.”

Jack drew back enough to press his mouth to Mark's. “ _This_ will be even better for the wait. And this.” He hugged Mark and sunk against his chest again. “And hugging yourself is a thing, sad as it may be.” He sighed and nuzzled into Mark's shoulder. “I'm gonna miss how you smell, and waking up to either you in my arms or the smell of coffee brewing. I'm gonna miss your weight against my side as we work at night, and Chica on our feet. I'm gonna miss you too. I just...don't want to think about it yet.”

Mark held Jack close; expression solemn and somber. “I don’t either. We’ve got a few weeks, right? We should just… do what we need to, and try to enjoy them while they last. Here, _and_ in Los Angeles. So we’ll have memories to think about when we’re apart.” He kissed at the side of Jack’s head one more time and then settled, closing his eyes. He felt strangely at peace. “Here, or halfway across the world, I’ll still love you. And when we see each other again, I’ll show you. Okay? We’re gonna do this. This won’t be what breaks us.” Not after everything else.

“Gardener,” Jack murmured, settling into Mark's lap. “Arrangements for Chica’s travel. Plane tickets. Shipping things to your place. Packing.” The list wasn't very long, but everything would take time. Jack sighed and closed his eyes. “Kissing you every night and every morning.”

“And you need to finish up your videos.” Mark paused. “...me too. A few, at least. I can be more productive once I’m settled there.” He sought Jack’s lips again and dragged out a smile for him. “Between kisses, though. Hope you’re ready for more than just one every night and every morning.” Mark wiggled his fingers until they could interlock with Jack’s and squeezed as if to cement his words.

“Your community understands when you take time off,” Jack said, then paused. “Mine would too, but _I_ wouldn't. Sometimes, I really suck.” He kissed Mark's shoulder and squeezed back. “Hope we're gonna do more than just kiss…”

“Well, if we get all the important stuff done and play our cards right… you could end up sucking in another way….” Mark wiggled his eyebrows a little. He was clearly trying to be sultry and sly but his goofy expression ruined his attempt before it could even begin.

Jack snickered and lifted himself up to suck Mark's earlobe into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue before letting it go. “Mm, you _tease_ me…”

Mark’s whimper was a bit stifled as he dug teeth into his lip. He huffed out a breath that had been lodged in his throat and sent Jack the hungry look he knew his boyfriend was weak for. “Says the tease. Think we have time to go inside and… unwind a bit? Before we get started on our adulting responsibilities?”

“Just imagine how productive we're gonna be when we're _not_ able to screw each other's brains out…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	84. 9/14: Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This should be a happy day, a happy trip, but all Mark feels is fear, agitation and the distinct urge to cry.

The weeks seemed to fly by. Once they set a date, it was as if someone pushed the fast forward button, but Mark and Jack did their best to squeeze in as much time together as possible while completing their laundry list of “Mark Goes Back to the States” tasks. They spent more time than ever at home; particularly Mark as he wasn’t sure yet when he’d be able to come back for a visit.

Gradually, they checked off metaphorical boxes. Mark found Jack a gardener who was actually from their neighborhood and happily married. (Not that he was worried- it was just a fun tidbit!) They messaged Tom and sorted out all the details for flying Chica back to the U.S. as safely and comfortably as possible. Jack completed his stockpile of videos with time to spare thanks to help from Robin and even Mark managed to set up a few for his own queue. They organized the shipment of Mark’s personal items with Tyler, who would be receiving them shortly before the two men arrived. Mark even got to see Emma about a week before they were set to leave. He’d gladly signed her giant pink mustache pillow and taken several selfies. At one point, she’d gone in for a hug, and though it took some minutes of maneuvering Mark was able to loosely accept. Jack had been there to help settle his nerves after all was said and done.

Jack and Mark also kissed- among other things. Yet there were more kisses than either of them could keep count and he spent hours just laying out in the garden trying to soak it all in. More hours still cooking in their kitchen, stretching out on their couch, embracing every aspect of the home they’d built together he physically could. Purchasing the plane tickets felt like hammering the final nail into a coffin, but the reality of it all didn’t really slam into Mark until they reached Dublin’s airport.

It was crowded and loud. Not quite so bad as he recalled L.A.’s airport being but still overwhelming and no amount of trips into Athlone proper could have prepared him for it. Mark had barely gotten out of their cab when it all came crashing at him at once. Had Jack not been present to take his hand and draw his focus, Mark had no doubts he would have been hyperventilating in a heartbeat. They tipped the driver a little extra so they could linger by the cab with Mark sitting sideways out the back door. Traffic was ignored and the crowds fell the wayside while Jack brought Mark back to his center and advised him for what came next. Constant hand contact, no leaving each other, Mark could stare at Jack and nothing else if it helped him. Jack would take care of anything to do with talking to other people. They just needed to keep their heads down and reach their gate.

The second attempt was more successful, if only marginally easier. Mark gripped Jack’s free hand like a vice and kept his gaze either on his boyfriend or his own shoes. He primarily focused on keeping his breathing in check and trying not to bump into anyone. Together, they managed to check in their luggage and secure their boarding passes. Things were going well.

Then came the security checkpoint. They were finally forced to part so Jack could push through the detector first. Mark could feel the line pressing at his back and he knew security personnel were watching him; scanning him. It was their job, but that didn’t make tolerating it any easier. Not usually the type to pray, Mark conjured up a few gods to ask mercy of as he shuffled through the detector. ‘ _Please don’t go off. Please don’t go off. Please don’t go off.’_ If he ended up needing to be frisked, even with a handheld device, he was going to panic; end of story.

The detector remained silent, and be it simple fortune or Mark having earned the gods’ favor, he was allowed to keep going with no extra fuss. He joined Jack’s side in seconds and it took all of his self control not to bury the Irishman in an embrace. Mark had never wanted to tuck his face into Jack’s neck and hide away from the world more but Jack squeezed his hand and murmured soothing words for his ears alone. It took some minutes of people maneuvering around them but Mark eventually regained the fortification needed to keep moving.

Their gate was full- overcrowded, really. L.A. was a popular destination. Jack pulled Mark around the corner so they could linger by the wall instead. They’d stopped by one of the little convenience stores set up after the security checkpoint for provisions and he passed Mark a water bottle. Gentle “you okay’s” were met with timid “I’ll be okay’s” and “I’m fine’s”. No one had recognized them and they were able to stand in relative peace until called to board the plane. Over one hurdle, on to the next.

The plane was worse. Just as crowded and noisy but without the space and there was a lot of white; Mark had to force his gaze to every window they passed as a reminder of where he was. His psyche was torn between there being too many people and the similarities to the room as it couldn’t sort out the bigger threat, and in the end Jack wound up half-tugging him down the aisle to their seats. It had been a struggle, initially, to hypothesize whether the window or the aisle seat would be better for Mark. The aisle provided an escape route to comfort his anxiety, but also left him exposed to more people. The window seat tucked him away where it was “safer” and gave him a view out, but trapped him. In the end, they went with the window seat so Jack could firmly place himself between Mark and everyone else.

Their tickets had come with a few complementary items- including a blanket- and once they were settled Jack wasted no time in covering them both with it. The blanket concealed their lower halves; allowing Jack to hook their legs together and take up Mark’s hand. He interlocked their fingers with an encouraging squeeze and coupled it with a smile. Mark, caught off-guard but grateful, returned the squeeze and bumped their shoulders together. Jack called his attention until they were well into the air: first with his words, and then with his body language.

Mark was enthralled by Jack when they began moving. He felt more than saw the results of Jack excitedly bouncing in his seat while the plane drove its course down the runway. He had to lean back so Jack could get a good view out the window of the scenery flying by faster and faster, then angling down, falling away beneath them in a blur of greens and greys as the plane lifted off the ground. Jack remained stretched over Mark until their shadow disappeared and then he sat back in his seat, giggling with a grin that could probably power the whole aircraft. Mark giggled as well, just on principal, and then they were both dissolving into stupid chuckles and snorts. The last person taking up their aisle seat had shot them concerned glances but thankfully didn’t bother them, and the whole situation helped put Mark at ease. If they could laugh, then the atmosphere was less oppressive; more like the comforts of their cabin. He relished it and held onto it while the hours stretched on.

They’d taken a nonstop flight. Less because of the time and more because the fewer airports Mark had to deal with, the better. It was still a good eleven hours to reach Los Angeles and at one point he managed to get some sleep. Jack had assured Mark he would try to stay awake and remain eagle-eyed for any threat of cameras, but when Mark was finally roused from his slumber he found Jack, too, just waking up. Apparently, he’d asked a stewardess to fill in for him.

Consciousness brought food and an updat: hours left to go. However, they’d managed to cross the ocean. Mark and Jack spent the time keeping each other busy. They watched an inflight movie, listened to some music and peered out the little window to make shapes and figures out of the clouds. For most of the trip, Jack held Mark’s hand. They only separated to use the bathroom once each, and they accompanied each other. Beyond a few odd looks, the flight itself went smoothly.

When they landed in L.A., they waited for the other passengers to depart before getting out of their seats. They filed out of the plane to a mostly empty gate and Mark couldn’t be more relieved. The airport itself was still crowded, but not nearly so badly as it could be. Most of the early flights had already left and there was enough time before the afternoon flights to create a lull. Mark and Jack hustled through to security- except this time, security was the immigration checkpoint. The trouble came when two signs prompted them to part ways: one for U.S. citizens and one for non-citizens. Mark’s anxiety spike was instantaneous.

Jack immediately set down his carry-on and turned to take Mark’s hands. He brought Mark’s focus back with a squeeze and his voice, then he kept it there while people flowed around them into one line or the other. “Mark. Mark, you need to get Chica, remember? She needs you. And your line’s shorter anyway.” Mark was looking at Jack, but his breathing was still a little sporadic. Jack threw caution to the wind and pulled Mark into a tight hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be right behind you. Get Chica and go meet Tyler. He texted you, remember? He’s here. He’s waiting for you out there. You can text him back if you need to- we’re in the States. Your shit works now.”

Mark clung to Jack and did his best to listen. He synced up his breaths with the rise and fall he could feel against his own chest. Slowly, he calmed down; not daring to check out their surroundings. He knew they were probably getting more side-eyes and acknowledging the judgment would only serve to set him off again. Jack gave Mark a squeeze he gladly returned before they separated. Mark held Jack’s hand up until the very last moment and then locked his eyes on Jack until he disappeared into the crowd. After that he was left alone. His anxiety and paranoia were fluctuating around each other like some kind of twisted square dance and all he wanted was to be home. _Home-_ home, in Ireland. Mark forced his body to take deep breaths and pressed on.

By the time he made it through immigration to baggage claim and Chica, he was under a lot of duress. Meeting up with his antsy, lonely baby girl helped him in leaps and bounds but he wasn’t out of the woods yet and part of Mark wanted to linger around for Jack, but he had no idea just how long it would take. He couldn’t be on his own with his thoughts for much longer. They were circling inside his head like vultures, just waiting to set upon him and pick at his growing fears.

Mark pushed on with a cart for Chica, his luggage and Jack’s too once the Irishman caught up. He’d texted Tyler at baggage claim saying he would be looking for the other man and Tyler, as always, did not disappoint. Mark located him by a giant sign held up over the sea of waiting drivers and family, friends and lovers. “CHICA” was scrawled across it in a bright red with Tyler’s stony face tucked underneath and Mark felt his tension plummet a few significant degrees to the point his muscles started to physically ache. Heading over, he waved an arm above his head. “Tyler!!”

Tyler had been alternating between holding up the sign and checking his phone. His curly head lifted at the shout of his name, and a bright smile broke across his face. “Oh my god, you live!”

Mark knew he wasn’t entirely joking.

Tyler pushed through the crowd easily, arms opening for a hug, but he hesitated when he got in front of Mark. He had Skyped frequently with Mark and Jack both over the past few months (though he had never actually met Jack in person), so he knew some of Mark’s new triggers. Before, he would have enfolded his childhood friend without batting an eye. Now, he gave a little shrug of his arms in offer. “Hugs for the Tyler?”

“Can’t get rid of me _that_ easily. Holy balls, I almost forgot how much of a nerd you were.” Mark met Tyler with an equal amount of enthusiasm but his anxiety reminded him it still existed when he spied the universal gesture. Tyler wanted a hug. Of course he would, he hadn’t seen Mark since before the convention- not in person, anyway. They’d been getting really close again before Mark was kidnapped and he must have been worried sick throughout it all. Could Mark do it, though? His reserves were already at an all time low. Tyler was safe, but that wouldn’t stop Mark’s body from reacting. He could already feel his muscles twitching from the thought.

“I _meant_ from Chica,” Tyler said, when Mark didn’t immediately surge into his arms. “I made a sign for her and everything, but you’re the one with the key, so…” Another arm shrug, but this time aimed a little lower at the obvious dog crate. “What can I say, I got attached to your golden goddess while you were out. I missed the fluffy shit factory. Hey girl. _Heeey_. Remember me?” Tyler stepped closer to the crate and stuck his fingers through the bars, letting Chica sniff at his fingers.

Mark knew what Tyler was doing. He knew, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Abruptly he was reminded of exactly _why_ they’d been becoming such tight friends again in the first place and his shoulders dipped an inch or two with his relief while his smile- which had been growing strained- relaxed with them. He could make it up to Tyler later. “Oh wow. Replaced me with Chica, I see how it is. Bet you’ll wanna start making videos with her and everything.” He crossed his arms on the cart’s push bar and leaned forward against it.

“Well, _someone_ has to. She tells me all the time how she wishes she were in more videos, but you hog the camera for yourself. How was the flight? And where’s Jack? I thought you two were flying in together…?”

At the mention of Jack, Mark sighed. “It was all right. Jack got caught up with immigration. Hopefully he’ll join us soon, but his line was a lot longer than mine….” If Mark sounded worried, that would be because he _was._

Tyler patted the top of the crate and gave Mark a quick once-over. “For real, man, you look good. Heck of a lot better than… than I thought you would. It’s… good to see you again. Real good. To see you for real. You know?” He smiled at him.

Mark blinked, taken aback, then dragged a hand across the back of his neck sheepishly. “You think so? Thanks. I’ve been, uh… been working out and stuff. Trying to get my body back to the way it was. Good to hear it’s paying off.” Jack always told him he looked good, but he was biased. To hear it from someone else meant a lot to Mark and even if he was somewhat stunned, his smile at Tyler was genuine. “It’s great to see you. Missed you while I was over there, man. Thanks for taking care of things while I’ve been gone. For taking care of Chica. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. And I’m grateful.”

“Well, yeah, I mean…” Tyler looked Mark over again. “Happy? You look happier than I thought you would? I mean, you always look great, Mark, if your ego needs a pat on the back, but… I dunno. Happy’s not the right word. Balanced?”

“I look… balanced?” Mark didn’t need to stress the confusion in his tone. His appreciative look had shifted to puzzlement while he stared at Tyler over the contents of the baggage cart. This time, he scratched at his head, brows furrowed in consideration. “What, like, I found inner peace or something? I’m not an emotional wreck? You lost me, bro.”

“Yeah, kinda. Like… like you’re okay. With who you are. I mean… shit, Mark, you were struggling with that even before… before. And yeah, you’re not an emotional wreck.” Tyler scrubbed at the back of his neck and offered Mark a sheepish grin. “I dunno, man, I just expected more tears and ‘oh woe is me’?”

Mark snorted at that, but he was rubbing at his stubble; seriously taking Tyler’s words to heart. None of his other friends had seen him in person yet. Tyler was the first. Back when Tom visited, Mark was still working on his emotional stability. He never could have made the journey he just did with Jack across an ocean and a landmass. Thinking on it, Mark supposed he _did_ feel more comfortable in his own skin. Even compared to before the convention, when his mind often swirled with self-doubts. They still existed and his confidence wasn’t foolproof, but he hadn’t succumbed to his self-consciousness in a while.

Maybe Tyler was onto something and not just babbling nonsense. Mark straightened with a fresh smile. “Oh trust me, there was plenty of that over the past few months. I guess I’ve just… had time to recover? Get over everything, I mean…. I’ve been learning a lot about myself the past few months. Sort of like a side effect. I’ve had to confront a lot, and.. I didn’t think it’d changed me that obviously….”

“Ireland’s been good for you,” Tyler said. “Though you have been sorely missed over here. Luna’s babbling a mile a minute now, and Ethan’s completely bored out of his skull without you forcing him into a dress.”

“ _There_ you are. Jesus. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a short guy in a crowd?” Jack came up to the pair, rolling his bag behind him, baseball cap tugged down firmly over his green hair. “Everything go okay, Mark?” He gave Tyler a little smile and nod, but his attention was on Mark first.

Mark was prepared to make a quip regarding dresses when Jack rolled up to them out of the blue and his body language changed in a blink. “Jack.” He’d abandoned the cart in another and by the third he was taking the Irishman’s hand with a hasty squeeze. Reassurance flowed through him like water. “I’m all right. It got a little tense there for a minute but Tyler’s been a big help. Did you get through immigration okay?” Mark wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Jack and curl up in his arms like they were back home again but he couldn’t. So he just stared into blue eyes with a longing he couldn’t hide. Mark didn’t interlock their fingers, but he didn’t let go, either.

“Yeah, got the usual quips about the green hair and leprechauns.” Jack rolled his eyes. “You’d think they’d come up with new material by now, but noooo.” He squeezed Mark’s hand and smiled at him.

“Pft. Lame. Those are _my_ jokes.” Mark let there be a pointed pause. “...you saying I need some new material, Jackaboy? I’m insulted.” He gave a little huff, but his smile didn’t diminish. If anything, it got bigger.

Tyler was watching Mark and Jack with a squinty-eyed look of slowly dawning realization. “ _Ohhhhh…_ ”

The sound reached Mark’s ears and he was promptly smacked in the face by the fact they were _not_ alone. Tyler only made that sound when he’d discovered something _big_ and pink flooded up to the tips of Mark’s ears as his head whipped around to the other man. “Huh? What? What. Don’t look at us like that. Stoppit. _Don’t._ Don’t you dare start, Tyler.”

“I said nothing!” Tyler protested, holding up his hands. “Nothing!”

“Goober,” Jack murmured under his breath, before he stepped closer to Tyler and held out his hand. “Hi, Tyler. Jack. It’s awesome to finally meet you in person!”

“Likewise! Don’t let him kill me…” Tyler shook Jack’s hand, easing around to put the Irishman in between their bodies. “But...how about you two lovebirds come out to the car? Chica can ride up front with me, and you two can snuuuuuuggle in the backseat...but you’re cleaning up any mess you make!”

Mark squinted at Tyler while Jack made friendly introductions as if to say “you haven’t _yet_ but you’re _going to_ I know you asshole”. He kept up the menace until Tyler one hundred percent confirmed his suspicions and dove straight into the dating jokes. _“Lovebirds”???_ Seriously? Mark’s face was just a few shades shy of his old hair color; mouth and brows screwed up with embarassed exasperation. He knew from the second Tyler went _“ooooh”_ that this was going to happen. “Jack, step aside, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Or,” Jack said, holding up a hand to Mark, “ _or_ we could follow his suggestion and get our revenge from the backseat of the car? Outside of the airport? And the crowd? All these _people_? Let’s _go…_ ”

“....” Mark continued staring down Tyler with his usual stubbornness for perhaps half a minute longer. However, Jack’s words had hit the points he’d been aiming for and Mark’s brain wasn’t able to ignore the connotations for very long. They were still in a _very_ open area surrounded by _many_ people and Mark very much wanted a supportive cuddle. If Tyler was being a dick about their relationship, then that at least meant he’d accepted it. They could get close in his car without any worry.

Grudgingly, Mark leaned back and took a deep breath. Some of the color drained away from his face. “Okay.” He smiled at Jack, squeezing his hand. “Okay, let’s get out of here. Before anymore people flood in….”

Jack smiled and squeezed Mark’s hand one more time before pulling away to load his bag onto the cart beside Mark’s. Tyler went around to the back to push so Mark and Jack could walk alongside each other. “If we’re quick enough, maybe we won’t even be recognized…”

It would seem the fates were smiling on them today, because they were able to get Chica safely into the front seat and climbed into the back themselves without anyone disturbing them (except one six-year-old who got all excited about the puppy and ended up dragged away by her mother begging for a doggy of her own). Jack laced his fingers through Mark’s, but he still waited until Tyler was on the highway before he tugged his hat off and reached over to pull Mark into a hug. “Hey. You did good. You made it. We’re here.”

“Ohmygod….” Mark groaned as he slumped automatically down into Jack’s arms. He silently apologized for being deadweight: like a puppet with its strings cut. The front and confidence he’d been forced to keep up for over half a day could finally be dropped. He could let down his walls and sink into Jack like it was just another day. His arms came around Jack’s middle to press fingers into his back, thumbing at the hidden MF. Mark’s face found Jack’s shoulder and he sighed. “I thought I was gonna lose it for a minute there, Jack. I couldn’t have done this without you. I would’ve been _sooooo_ ** _fucked._** ”

Jack’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of Mark’s shirt to press against the SM in response, and he turned his head to kiss Mark’s temple. “You might have felt like that, but you _didn’t_ lose it, Mark. You held it together, and now it’s over. We’re safe on the ground again. And we’ll be home soon. To your home.”

“I kinda wish we were going to _our_ home….” Mark muffled his words with Jack’s shirt before nuzzling further into Jack’s shoulder. He breathed deep and dug his fingertips in a bit more. “I miss it already.”

“Yeah, but… _sun_ ,” Jack said. “Pool! Hundreds of channels! _Better Netflix options!_ ”

In the front seat, Tyler was failing not to snicker. “So, what, do you guys just chill in Ireland? Without the Netflix?”

Jack blew Tyler a raspberry. “For that, I’m gonna makeout in your backseat. Pucker up, Markifart…”

Mark wasn’t sure whom he should be more exasperated with: Jack for providing such silly perks or Tyler for making such a terrible joke. Both were in the wrong and both needed to be stopped. However, Mark was still sore at Tyler for that “lovebirds” comment in the airport, plus Jack was his boyfriend and he’d been wanting to kiss him all day. “C’mon Jack, let’s chill without the Netflix right here, right now.” He stuck his tongue out at Tyler in the rearview mirror then turned to Jack with it still extended, giving it a lewd wiggle. “Nyeeeeh sloppy makeouts are a go; Septiplier away!”

Jack was cracking up, but he caught Mark by the face and leaned in to give him a sloppy kiss, catching Mark’s teasing tongue between his lips. “ _Ass,_ ” he whispered fondly against Mark’s mouth, sliding his hands down so he could fold them around Mark again and tug him as close as the seat belts would allow.

“Can’t; seat belts’re in the way. _Later._ ” Mark mumbled back around lips and tongue with a slight waggle of his eyebrows. He did rotate his hands to tap fingers along Jack’s waistband, though. A hint of what was to come once they were finally alone; possibly on a bed, or the couch- Mark wasn’t going to be picky at this point. He tilted his head to better position their lips and managed to get his tongue _inside_ Jack’s mouth. Tyler was a forgotten outlier in the front seat.

Jack gave a little shiver and Mark narrowly swallowed a groan when Jack groped his ass. That was about the warning bell he’d needed to realize _actual sloppy makeouts_ in the back of his friend’s car probably wasn’t the best idea. Or all that polite. Kisses were one thing since Tyler had been goading them anyway, but he could already tell they were toeing at a line. They were too accustomed to being alone. Almost painfully, Mark forced himself to pull back for air and a couple of whispered words. “Jack. _Jack,_ we can’t. Not now. Just.. you good? I’m good. I’m good; we’ll pick it up later okay? Okay…”

“Okay,” Jack agreed quietly, drawing away from Mark. He slid their hands back together, interlacing their fingers again, and sagged back in the seat to take a few deep breaths. “Sorry, Tyler. Great first impression, huh?”

“Nah, s’all cool, bro,” Tyler said, waving a hand dismissively. “I was telling Mark just before you showed up that Ireland was good for him, but I realize I was a little off. It’s just one Irish, huh? So… how’d it happen?”

Mark snorted, then wheezed out a laugh as he swiped some stray drool from his chin with a thumb. “You might wanna slow down a bit, Tyler. This story is _long…._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	85. 9/14: Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark clings to what he's known for so long.

Mark and Jack had taken turns explaining the tumultuous start of their relationship to Tyler; with certain parts omitted, of course. Tyler, bemused, had tossed a few corny quips their way until they reached the house. Mark was able to get his revenge by surprising his friend with an abruptly released Chica, whom had immediately tackled the poor man to the ground in her excitement. PTyler conceded to giving the two “lovebirds” a break.

Together with help from Tyler, they managed to move all the luggage and Chica’s crate into the house. Thankfully, the state of things wasn’t as bad as Mark’s imagination had made them out to be. Tyler had taken good care of the place while Mark was stuck in Ireland. Sure, the pool needed to be cleaned, weeds needed to be pulled and it could use a serious dusting. Otherwise, though, it was perfectly ready to be lived in again. Chica roamed around the house with a happy ease and Mark had taken a little time to re-acquaint himself with the rooms.

It didn’t feel like home anymore. It was a startling revelation yet at the same time, he couldn’t say he was surprised. If thinking about his house hadn’t arisen such feelings, what difference would actually being there make? Mark felt more nostalgia than anything, but it was too big. There was too much space and modernity. It was nothing like their little Irish cabin by the river and looking out the back to the pool, Mark found he missed the garden already. He would trade the necessity for his vegetables and wildflowers in a heartbeat.

Still, Mark did his best to look on the bright side. It was warm and sunny. He knew these rooms. Tyler and his other friends were now a short drive away, plus Jack was there with him. He hadn’t left yet and there was still time to make this home again; to get re-acclimated to his old life.

The only problem was Mark didn’t know if he wanted to.

However, life did go on and the day grew short. Once Mark and Jack were settled, Tyler passed on their invitation to join them for a dinner of pizza (they still had to get groceries). He claimed he wanted to give the “newlyweds” some space for the evening and had fled the vicinity before he could be attacked by a rain of pillows. Mark, disgruntled and disappointed with much of his return experience, cuddled with Jack for dinner and expected things to carry on into the bedroom. Change into nightclothes, brush teeth, slip under the covers with Jack and let sleep take him. Maybe, if he concentrated really hard, he would wake up to a weak Irish dawn and wooden beams above his head.

In the meantime, Jack had pulled him into a steamy makeout session on Mark’s couch to christen this room, but Mark’s heart wasn’t really in it. Their legs were pressed together, arms wrapped around each other and both of them had a hand up the other’s shirt, claiming their initials. It was almost normal in an unfamiliar place. Jack sighed, his head lolling to the side as Mark devoured his neck. “Mark. Maaaark…”

Mark could tell Jack was out of it. He wasn't reacting as eagerly or openly to Mark’s advances on the couch and he almost felt uncomfortable beneath Mark, but he'd kept going so long as Jack didn't stop him. Jack promised he would stop him if he didn't want it and Mark needed this piece of familiarity; of their contrived “normality”. He needed Jack. He'd started biting and sucking at Jack’s neck in an effort to get him more in the mood and at first, he thought it was working. It sounded like Jack was moaning his name, but then there were fingers pushing him back and Mark leaned away from Jack in a heartbeat. That was a nonverbal stop and he wouldn't try to keep going, no matter how badly he wanted to.

“Mark, I… um… I’ve been thinking…”

Panting lightly, Mark looked down at Jack very much like a confused, slightly desperate puppy. His desperation wasn't for release like back home, though. Right now, it was a desperation for comfort. “Wha.. what's up? Jack? You've been sort’ve.. distant; all night. Is it the jet lag? If you're not feeling up to this, w-we can stop….” He could, he could, even if he didn't want to.

“Mark…” Jack reached up to stroke his fingers along Mark's face, pecking his lips. “I want to continue, I do, but first I just…”

Mark leaned into Jack’s touch, bringing up a hand of his own to slide over pale fingers. He was just relieved to hear he hadn't been turning Jack off or doing anything wrong.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his expression was sad. “I don't think we should share a bed tonight. Or...or at all. While I'm here. I can stay in the guest room, and we can still...we can still do this! We just...shouldn't sleep together.”

Mark’s relief melted down to simmer hot and bitter in his stomach when he took in the sadness in those blue eyes. Jack spoke, and he swore he could feel that same sadness transfer into his own; seep beneath his skin to flood his veins and cause his body to physically slump over Jack. How hadn't he seen this coming? Of course Jack would want to do this, he wouldn't be here forever. They had to get used to it. Still, after the day he'd had… he just thought Jack might be a little lenient. They hadn't not slept together in so long Mark couldn't even remember what it felt like to sleep alone. “Jack… Jack, I get it, I do. But do we have to start tonight? I don't… I'm not familiar with this house anymore. I'm uncomfortable. I don't think… it'd be the best idea, to just take away the only familiarity- the only normal- I have right now. I..” Take a deep breath and admit it; anything to make Jack change his mind. “...I'm scared. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack agreed. “Okay.”

He leaned in to kiss Mark again (and then a couple more times). “Tonight,” he said. “We can sleep together tonight, but then…” He shook his head, hiding his face in Mark's neck and hugging him tight. “Mark, we need to...I need to know that you can do this. That you'll be okay on your own. Without me. Without nightmares.”

Mark’s relief returned, cool and sweet, even if it carried a bitter undernote of inevitability. Eventually, he wouldn't sleep with Jack, whether it was voluntary or forced upon him by Jack’s departure. It would be better to start now, while Jack was present for support.

Tonight, however, they could hold off. They could pretend nothing was changing and share a bed together as if they were still in Ireland. Mark kissed Jack with an eagerness to move on; to not think about the issue for another day but Jack was hiding against his neck and all Mark could do was return the embrace. It felt like his heart was being slowly crushed in his chest but he pressed a kiss to Jack’s hair nonetheless, holding him close. “...I know. I know it's important, Jack… I'm sorry. It's just going to be hard, but I'll try. I will. Tomorrow night.” Mark wished he could believe his own words.

“Tomorrow night is tomorrow,” Jack decided. He pulled away from Mark's neck to look him in the eye. “If this is gonna be the last night we spend together for a while, I want to enjoy it, dammit!

“If this works,” Jack promised, leaning forward to brush their noses together, “then maybe...maybe we can talk about actually living together. Properly, not just because of health reasons. Okay?”

Mark’s smile finally returned. “Me too.” Feeling cheeky and just a little giddy Jack had caved to his wants, Mark affectionately rubbed their noses together in reward. Any trace of sadness or tension had left his eyes to instead be replaced with excitement. “You mean it? Like, actually living together here or there? Living together permanently?” It sounded like a dream come true to Mark. Even if they ended up living here and not back in the home they'd created together in Ireland, Mark would be happy. Jack was the core of his love for that little cabin, after all.

“I know I said no before, but that was before…” Jack sighed and dropped his head into Mark's shoulder. “I don't want to live without you forever. I don't want to just see you a couple times a year. But I don't know how to make it work. So. So. If you can do this, if you can live on your own without me...I'll look into seeing how you can live with me. No promises. Immigration's a bitch. But I'll try.” Jack tightened his arms around Mark, sweeping a finger over the curving S in Mark's back. “I'll do my best…”

Mark cradled Jack in his arms and pressed giddy kisses to the side of his head before burying his smile into the short brown locks. “I'll help. I'll do whatever I can from my end. I'll help you research. Anything I can do to make it easier. Even if it means me moving out there to be with you, I don't care. I'll do it.” If Jack was willing to leave everything he knew and loved behind, then Mark would be too. He would move to Antarctica if it meant waking up with a sleepy Jack in his arms every morning. Lovingly, he nosed along the divide between rough brown and fluffy green. His own fingers found their way to where he knew an M still rested against Jack’s skin; the movement almost natural now. He pressed in with fingertips and kissed at the shell of Jack’s ear. “I'll do it. If it means getting to be with you all the time again, I'll work through it. I will.” Mark gave Jack’s ear a teasing little nibble. “‘Cause I love you.”

“You are not giving up all Los Angeles has to offer a YouTuber to move to Ireland,” Jack scolded even as he giggled. “I won't let you. Not even for me. Or the tatertots.”

“Not even for our little tuber babies?” Mark gasped with mock-horror, but he was still smiling when Jack pulled him into a kiss.

Jack’s lips glanced off stubble and skin. “You finish getting your life back, and let me worry about logistics, okay? We both know I'm the better planner anyway. We'll sleep on it and figure things out. We will.”

After they broke apart, Mark looked down at Jack over the dark rims of his low-sitting glasses while his fingers rubbed circles over the tattoo. For the first time that day, after hours of discomfort and anxiety, Mark looked to Jack with the same easy adoration he so often showcased back home. “Okay. Okay, you're right. I trust your judgment better than mine, anyway. I know you can figure it out. But if there's anything I can do, don't hesitate. I want this. I want you. More than anything else in the world.”

Jack looked at Mark, solemn and steady, but then he smiled faintly and dipped his head. “I'll let you know,” he promised. “So...I dunno about you, but I'm pretty worn out,” Jack said. “How about we get tucked in for the night?” He looked up at Mark with a smirk. “We could christen your bed…”

Mark gave an amused snort and nuzzled affectionately at Jack’s hair again. “Jack, why do I get the feeling you're gonna get us ‘christening’ every room and piece of usable furniture in the house? Then again…” Tightening his grip around Jack’s waist, Mark stood and heaved the Irishman up with him. Jack gave a little ‘eep’ and the move might have been a little sexier if Mark didn't nearly tumble over the coffee table while adjusting his balance, but he managed.

Letting Jack cling to him and get comfortable, Mark grinned. “We should get to work on the walls, too. Maybe even try the pool if we can get all the leaves out of it….” Underwater sex: now that sounded interesting.

“You christened every room and useable furniture in the other house!” Jack protested. “Turnabout is fair play!”

“Jack you're the one that got us christening half that stuff so does it even count as ‘turnabout’?” Mark pointed out with a chuckle, one arm locked firmly around Jack’s waist while the other dropped down to cup at his ass. Support and a nice handful; who said Mark wasn't good at multitasking?

Jack went pink and burrowed into Mark’s neck. “I'll close my eyes,” he decided. “You can decide what gets first christening.”

Humming contently with a smile still playing at his lips, Mark carried his all too willing cargo through the house. In the end, it was a wall, and they both slipped into Mark’s bed after; sated and spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	86. 9/15: Together Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark can't stop clinging.

The second day passed much like the first. Jack bought Mark an electric kettle and two dozen random mugs from the most eclectic stores he could find (“It’s not genuine if all your mugs are matchy-matchy!”) and spent an embarrassing amount of time teaching Mark how to make tea properly (and writing instructions for Tyler, just in case). He helped Mark set up meetings with his physician and the therapist he went to after Daniel’s death, and he even let Mark talk him into manual labor to help clear the pool. After another long day, Jack bid Mark good night at his door and left Mark to crawl into his empty bed. Alone.

Mark couldn’t sleep.

No, it went beyond that. Mark couldn’t even get comfortable enough to attempt sleep. He had grudgingly kept his promise that night and let Jack leave him for the guest bedroom. He had been confident, at first. It was just sleep. How hard could it be? He used to do it by himself all the time, even after the kidnapping. All he had to do was stretch out, cuddle up in his covers and close his eyes.

He had no idea how much time had passed, as he’d quit glancing at the clock (barely a minute had gone by; every time), but it felt like hours since he kissed Jack goodnight. He’d been laying sprawled out on his back just staring up at the ceiling for half that time and Mark loathed how much he missed the simple reassurance of wooden beams overhead. He’d tried falling asleep in various states of dress to no avail. Still shirtless and hair a rumpled mess, Mark was at his absolute wit’s end.

He wanted Jack. He wanted Jack wrapped up in his arms, face tucked into his shoulder or under his chin. Mark wanted to nuzzle drowsily into green locks and smother Jack’s head with affectionate kisses. He ached to feel their legs tangled up beneath the covers; the little sensation of Jack’s chest rising and falling against his own. Mark wondered if this was what having a “phantom limb” felt like. Jack had practically become an extension of himself and now he was suffering the withdrawal. He couldn’t sleep. He was not going to get any sleep unless…

Mark knew it was wrong. He knew he was going back on what he’d told Jack that first night and that doing this would only be a step backwards for them both, but Jack had always been the stronger one- months of recovery had shown Mark that much. Really, it should come as no surprise that out of the two of them, Mark was the one to break first.

He didn’t knock. He knew he should, but he didn’t. If Jack knew he was coming then he would be turned away for sure. Jack might even go so far as to forcefully keep Mark out. All for the best, of course, but the thought terrified him. Mark sacrificed courtesy for his own sanity and slipped into the guest bedroom with little to no sound. If there was one good thing about this house, it was no creaky floorboards or doors; everything was too new. Whether Jack could sense him coming or not, Mark made a beeline straight for the bed. He crawled under the covers before Jack could possibly protest and latched on like a lost man whom had at last encountered land. Mark buried his face into the back of Jack’s neck with a whispered apology, squeezing him tight.

Jack sighed. “I should send you back to your own bed,” he mumbled. Mark tensed at the threat, but it was short-lived. Jack covered Mark’s arms with his own and pressed back against Mark’s chest. “G’night, love.”

Jack had caved, yet again, and he released a sigh of his own. His arms settled more securely around his boyfriend while he scattered gentle kisses along the back of Jack’s neck and shoulders. Mark nuzzled into Jack with a relaxed exhale and a faint smile. So he was wrong. So what? If what he felt was wrong, damn if he was going to try and be right. He needed this, Jack needed this- they needed this. Sleep came so easy Mark almost dozed off before he could murmur out:

“G’night….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	87. 9/16: Together - No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's shown the door.

The third night, Jack locked his bedroom door.

Mark knew the door would be locked. He knew, because Jack had warned him that day. After they woke together and had breakfast Jack had emphasized, again, how important it was for Mark to sleep on his own. Mark had shamefully agreed but of course Jack saw right through him and said he’d lock the door.

Jack had stuck to his word. Mark’s hand lingered on the knob, face slack. He looked between it and the door as if finding the issue difficult to fully comprehend. Jack had locked him out. Out of his own guest bedroom. Except, Mark couldn’t be mad or upset. He’d brought this upon himself. Jack had warned him and Mark had been too stubborn to listen. Now he didn’t have a choice. Granted, he could call out to Jack. It would be all too easy convincing Jack to come unlock the door if he heard Mark pleading for it from the other side. He opened his mouth…

Nothing came out. Mark’s voice was wedged tight in his throat and he knew the why of that, too. Calling Jack’s name would be wrong. Begging him to unlock the door, to let Mark in; that was wrong. Technically, it was manipulation, and Mark’s mouth snapped shut so hard his teeth clicked together. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not to Jack. Never to Jack.

Mark was just making things worse. Jack was trying so hard to make sure Mark would be ready to live on his own again and Mark was being selfish. He backpedaled, hand falling away from the door but still he hesitated in the hallway. Mark stared down the door for a long time after he decided joining Jack that night would be a fruitless venture, then he retreated to his room but sleep was no kinder to him. It evaded him for another hour or so before he broke down again.

The door was still locked when he returned to the hallway. That was fine. Hopefully, Jack was asleep by now. Quietly, Mark pressed his shoulder to the door and slid down its wooden surface. His legs folded naturally beneath his weight before he tugged them up close to his chest. The pillow Mark had brought along was wedged snugly between his knees and chin as a buffer, but he hadn’t bothered taking a blanket. The house was warm on a California night. The carpet wasn’t all that bad, either, and if he focused he thought he could hear Jack’s steady breathing beyond the door. Mark closed his eyes, drew a deep breath in through his nose and let his head gently come to rest against the solid surface with an almost inaudible “thunk”. It wasn’t sleeping with Jack. It wasn’t sleeping by himself in a bed.

But Mark was sleeping by himself, and he finally managed to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	88. 9/22: California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark isn't alone, but still he's lonely.

That wasn’t the last night Mark fell asleep outside the guest bedroom door. Jack made sure to lock it every night until he left L.A., and every night Mark would find himself curled up in front of it. By the last few nights he’d just given up on trying to sleep in his bed at all. He would wait in his bedroom for about thirty minutes before abandoning it in favor of the hallway. He never got more than a few hours of sleep, but he _slept,_ and no nightmares plagued him.

Jack showed his concern every morning for how stiff Mark looked; how he’d rub at his sore muscles. He would always spout off a white lie to any inquiries: slept wrong, accidentally fell off the bed, had a small nightmare but it’s okay, nothing to worry about. He was still getting sleep. Jack accepted his excuses and, so far as Mark knew, was never the wiser. He kept Mark distracted with heavy discussions and heavier physical sessions. They tried hard to take advantage of every last moment allotted to them. Admittedly, Mark more readily committed their christening of every room and surface in (and outside of) his house to memory but he did make Jack certain promises. He wouldn’t close in on himself if things became too much; Mark wouldn’t bottle up any nightmares or severe anxieties he was experiencing. Tom was always a phone call away and Tyler a short drive. He wasn’t alone, even if Jack wasn’t there. Not anymore.

That fact didn’t matter to his heart or his emotions. When the time came for Jack to return to Ireland, Mark was a wreck. He didn’t even bother with hiding it. He didn’t have the energy because all of it was drained into burying just how much he _loved_ Jack deep into his boyfriend’s mouth and skin. He mapped out Jack’s body with his hands and traced over the tattoo; over and over until he had every last inch of Jack seared into his memory but _still_ it wasn’t enough.

Mark had sobbed like a baby when the day finally came. He cried before they left the house, and he cried on the way to the airport. Tyler mercifully gave them their space and kept any comments to himself while Jack cradled Mark in his arms. It would be the last time, for a long time. That was the thought pounding into Mark’s skull like a jackhammer when Tyler parked, while he scrubbed his face free of tears and snot and forced up a composed smile for crowds of strangers who couldn’t understand- _wouldn’t_ understand. Mark held his emotions in so violently he felt sick but he didn’t waver, not even when Jack hugged him before security. The Irish trill and bright blue eyes which had become his security blanket reassured him one more time before walking away and Mark had never felt so heartbroken in his life.

(He ended up needing to stop at the airport restroom on the way out to dry heave in a stall, but Tyler was there to see him back out the exit doors.)

The drive home was tense and silent. Jack was a life-saver in having Tyler drive because Mark could barely focus on what was outside the window, let alone the road. Tyler made several attempts to draw Mark into a conversation with little success and eventually stopped trying. Mark felt bad, but he just couldn’t bring himself to engage much of anything.

At the house, Tyler offered to stick around for awhile just to keep Mark company. Mark tried to refuse; sadness and despondency urging him in the direction of solitude where he could wallow in his self-pity. Tyler insisted, clearly worried and Mark almost put his foot down, but a voice in the back of his head urged him to say yes. It was vaguely Irish and Mark caved in a single breath. It was the most relieved Mark had ever seen his friend.

When they actually got inside, seeing Chica helped. She looked confused when Jack didn’t follow them in, but readily accepted the affections and praise of her other two boys. Tyler whipped them up some quick and easy sandwiches for a late lunch but it was only with Tyler’s coaxing that Mark was able to stomach half of his.

The rest of the afternoon was spent playing video games and watching stupid YouTube videos (not Mark’s, and Tyler specifically avoided Jack’s channel) in an effort to take Mark’s mind off Jack’s absence. It worked, a little. When it got late, Tyler again offered to stick around- a sleepover wouldn’t kill him. Mark was adamant this time, though. He already knew he was in for a rough night and he didn’t want Tyler to see him in such a state; didn’t want anyone else to deal with it. Mark remembered his promise to Jack but he technically hadn’t experienced a nightmare, yet. He wasn’t breaking anything.

Tyler conceded, in the end. He ordered a pizza before he left and made Mark promise he would eat _at least_ one slice. He also reiterated the fact he was available to talk, any time. Tyler offered a hug on Mark’s doorstep, and Mark refused. He felt regret the rest of the night, but he never picked up his phone.

Exactly _one_ pizza slice (he’d promised), a fed and crated Chica, and sluggishly brushed teeth later brought Mark to his bedroom. He stared for too long at his bed: picturing Jack there, recalling all the nights they’d spent together. He cried again, but there were no sobs. Mark didn’t even get in.

He picked up the same pillow he’d been taking every night for almost a week and made his way to the guest room. Jack had only just left that morning. The bed probably still smelled like him. However, opening the door would ruin the illusion. It would solidify the fact Jack was _gone,_ that he hadn’t just locked himself in the guest room again and would be there to greet Mark come morning. Mark wouldn’t be able to take it- not tonight.

His shoulder met the door, and then his head. His legs were pulled up to his chest. Mark wiggled the pillow into place and settled into the most comfortable position he’d contrived while spending night after night curled up outside that very door. If he squeezed his eyes shut tight and concentrated so hard he almost forgot to breathe, he could pretend it was Jack’s breathing he was hearing on the other side of the door- not his own.

If only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	89. 10/22: Skyping Away the Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack on a screen can't compare to Jack in his arms.

“...and it’s so cooooold!” Jack wailed into the camera, flopping around the couch in a blanket burrito on Mark’s laptop screen and Mark laughed. “Ugh, Mark, Ireland _sucks_. Why do you like it so much?”

Mark had been home for a month now. They Skyped nearly every night (and sometimes during the day), filling each other in on the events (or lack thereof) in their lives. Mostly, Jack only had the weather to talk about.

A surprising lack of time in their calls was spent sexually- almost none, actually. Jack was more likely to get Mark to hug himself and pretend it was Jack than to get himself off because the camera dissuaded Mark, and Jack was clearly awkward. They sexted occasionally, but mostly, their relationship had fizzled to _I love you_ and _I miss you_.

Mark managed to get his laughter under control and shook his head. Contrary to Jack, he was actually _outside._ Los Angeles was a balmy sixty-five degrees with sunshine for _days._ In the privacy of his backyard, Mark felt comfortable taking his shirt off and lounging by the pool. It wasn’t Ireland’s misty mornings he’d been missing so dearly, but soaking up some sun always helped him feel better. Chica was in agreement from her sprawled out position nearby; kicking lightly in her sleep. “Well you gotta remember I wasn’t really there for the cold months, Jack. So it was pleasant enough for me. If you wanna know, though, it’s like almost seventy and sunny here. Missing you~”

Jack pulled a face and flipped Mark off.

Mark had been teasing, but it was also true- _terribly_ true. He had come a long way in a month but that longing for Jack never went away. He’d managed to stop sleeping in front of the guest room door a few days after Jack left. The nightmares returned, however they were few and far between and most nights he could calm himself down with Chica and a cup of tea. Sometimes, he would go outside and try to stargaze, if the sky was clear enough. (Light pollution was a bitch and needed to kiss his ass. He missed the darkness of an Athlone night.) So far, Mark only had to call up Tyler once when a night terror prevented him from even leaving his bedroom long after the sun rose. It was awkward and not nearly so comforting as Jack had been, but Tyler had gotten the job done and Mark was grateful.

He wouldn’t say he was _comfortable._ Mark was tolerant, at this point. Capable of living his life without wanting to break down every five minutes and his house felt more like home, but still _wasn’t._ That was a major problem because Mark needed a space he could feel at ease in, but things just weren’t right. Too close to the city, too many neighbors, too big of a house. Mark looked at the old couch occupying a majority of his screen alongside Jack- the same one Jack and himself had spent many a night cuddled up together on- and felt his heart ache. “So… I’ve been thinking lately….”

“Oh? Thinking, eh? Take two paracetamol and call Dr. Schneeplestein in the morning.” Jack finally seemed to settle into one position on the couch. “And maybe try not to do that.”

Mark rolled his eyes and happily gave Jack his flipped bird back. “Oh ha _ha._ That was so damn funny Jack. Glad to see you’re finally working on your comedy.” He stuck out his tongue in a childish gesture but couldn’t let himself get too distracted. This was _important._ Jack giggled.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Mark started again. “Seriously, though. I was thinking that… that maybe I should move. Just… this house isn’t right for me anymore. I mean, I was always _okay_ with it before, I guess. But… after living over there with you, in the cabin, for so long I realized that… I don’t… really like it here? I mean, it’s _nice._ But it’s not.. it’s not what _I want._ Y’know? It’s not like I want a duplicate of our cabin.” He did, he _so_ did but Jack didn’t need to know that. “I just think that… some distance, from the city. It’d be nice.”

“You wanna move?” Jack asked. “Like, how far? Back to Cincinnati? Don’t tell me you’re gonna become a hermit in the woods somewhere. Especially not in California. Those woods seem to be spontaneously combusting every other month.”

“No! Not back to Cincinnati, oh my god. I’m not moving out of state unless it’s back to _you,_ Jack.” Mark was a little flabbergasted by the conclusions Jack had so quickly jumped to and then felt defensive as the nail was metaphorically hit on its head. “I’m _not_ gonna become a hermit, either. Fuck. I just.. I can’t stand being here, Jack. The city. I can’t. It’s too noisy, it’s too crowded and I _can’t even see the stars here,_ Jack. That’s a crime all on its own. I…”

Mark swallowed and rubbed at the back of his neck, through his hair, down over his face. “...I miss the nature. I miss our garden. I miss being able to hear the river all the time and how we’d wake up to see fucking ducks quacking around in our backyard. I miss having a little safe space outside to just unwind when the rest of the world’s got me so stressed out _I_ feel like spontaneously combusting. I need space. I need a house I can actually feel comfortable in and even Chica misses having a big yard to run around in. I wouldn’t be going far. I _know_ that’s a bad idea. I’d just… I’d just be getting out. Of _this._ ” Mark gestured around him as if his hand could encompass all of downtown Los Angeles.

“Wanting more nature’s not a bad thing,” Jack said. “That’s one of the reasons why I love it here so much, despite my complaints.”

“One of the reasons I loved it there….” Mark mumbled under his breath.

Jack continued, “I think that’d be nice. You’re not sharing your house with two guys who insist they aren’t gay for each other anymore. You don’t need as much space, so you can definitely afford more yard.”

Mark perked up a bit when Jack supported the idea. Honestly, he’d been frightened Jack would try to convince him away from it or would unintentionally stoke his paranoia with a laundry list of risks. Mark’s face eased into a smile and he even chuckled a little at the joke about Matt and Ryan. “Tyler’s offered to try moving in once or twice, but I turned him down. I know it’s just because he’s worried. He knows I’m lonely.” Mark wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but he knew Jack felt the same. He was safe to confide in.

Jack cocked his head to the side. “Have you been just thinking about this, or have you actually started looking?”

Reaching back to rub at his neck again in slight embarrassment, Mark’s fingers tapped lightly at the keys of his laptop. “Well.. I.. might’ve started looking around nearby forest-y areas for any open listings…. A few places have caught my eye but I haven’t done any serious research yet. Renting _this_ house was a big deal, and that was with two other people helping me out. It’s gonna take time, I know, but.. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I really think it’d help.”

“Your comfort is of utmost importance,” Jack said. “If you think it’ll help, if it’s what you want, and if it doesn’t totally kill your bank account- because Jesus, how expensive _are_ houses in California?- then go for it! You’ll have to send me pictures, and give me a video tour when you move, so I can see it for myself. And then eventually, when I get back over there, we’ll have to rechristen everything.”

Mark snorted. “Okay, well. I think it’ll help. It’s what I want. And Jack, do you realize how little of my account I’ve touched over the past year? Like yeah, medical expenses and some travel crap but otherwise… I’ve really just been collecting ad revenue. It’s ridiculous.” No matter how much viewership of Mark’s account had dropped during his absence, people were _still_ watching his videos and many of those who left returned once he began posting again. Over the past month, his subscriptions had done an about-face and started to rise again. Slowly, but surely. “A small house outside of downtown? If I make it a slight fixer-upper I’ll be able to handle the mortgage no problem. So… yeah. If I’ve got your blessing I guess I’m gonna go for it. Eventually.”

He still had to _find_ the house, after all, but Mark was beaming. “You’ll be the first person I message when I find the one, _promise._ Also, shut up. Don’t tempt me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around this house and remember all the places we wrecked our underwear? The places I wrecked _your_ underwear? I’m pretty sure we made a dent in one wall with your ass, Jack.”

“Oh. Oh, right. _Your_ house is hard to walk around without getting horny.” Jack looked around pointedly and then back at Mark. “I can count seven different places without _getting up_. And that’s just places, not even times!”

“Okay, okay. So our libido’s either something to be feared or admired. I get it. Being apart this long’s probably just gonna make it worse once we’re back together again.”

“I miss you.”

Mark’s choice of words were already dampening his spirits, but Jack emphasized the effect with those three little words and his heart sank. “Jack…”

Jack settled his head on his arm, pouting slightly at the camera. “Sorry. I just… you look really happy right now, and I miss being able to kiss that smile.”

Mark pulled his knees up to drag the laptop screen closer as if it could ever be a substitute for the real person trapped within, and his mouth turned down at the corners with the hint of a frown. “...I miss you too. It’s okay. You don’t.. you don’t have to apologize. We’re supposed to be able to tell each other how we feel. Communication, remember? I… _fuck,_ Jack, I really want to kiss you right now…. I want to kiss you until _you_ smile again. And I wanna hold you. Keep you warm.” Mark hunkered down into his pool chair with a growing pout. “...when’s the next time you said we could meet up, again?”

“PAX isn’t until March.” Jack hunkered further into his arm so just his blue eyes and green floof were sticking up and his voice was slightly muffled.

(PAX South was in January again, but there was no way Mark was _ever_ returning there. Not after last time.)

“That’s so far away…” Jack frowned, then squirmed around. His head had to come up from his arm, but his attention was on his phone once he retrieved it from his pocket. “Maybe there’s a sooner convention? If I visit without an excuse, our communities are just gonna explode…”

“So let’em explode, it’s not like they don’t do that enough on their own….” Mark muttered petulantly, then huffed and sulked a bit more dramatically. He loved his community, really he did, but sometimes he _hated_ how having one dictated what he could or couldn’t do. People failed to realize how many freedoms were sacrificed for fame and fortune. Jack seemed to be searching the internet, though, so Mark let him work in peace. Jack was good at finding solutions. Give the industrious Irishman a few minutes and-

“Blizzcon?” Jack asked, looking back at the camera. “Mark, Blizzcon’s in _Anaheim_! November 4… about two weeks away? Fuck, I dunno if I can get tickets, but if I focus, I can prep about a week of videos by then… I can go for a day and then come spend the rest of the time with you? Maybe I can reach out to Blizzard, see if they’ll pull some strings…”

“Blizzcon…? Oh yeah, I think I’ve heard of that. The big Blizzard sponsored one. I think I’ve tried going once or twice but something always came up. I mean, y’know I used to be obsessed with WoW but I haven’t played it in ages. Most of my time and effort went towards the bigger cons like PAX. It’s only two weeks away. Are you sure we could manage to get tickets…?” Mark scratched at his stubble with doubt in his brown eyes. “I used to have good connections with Blizzard but I haven’t really emailed them in like… a year. At least.”

“I _will_ get tickets… we?” Jack cocked his head to the side. “Did you want to come too? I mean, it’s close, but… If you want to come, I’m absolutely not going to stop you!” Jack assured Mark quickly. “I just… thought it might be overwhelming. But it would also give us another day together…” And as they had both unfortunately learned, even one day together was a rare opportunity.

“Uh, I mean…” Mark admittedly hadn’t been putting much thought into his words. He was so _used_ to attending conventions; to setting things up with Jack ahead of time. He’d just slipped back into that mindset and now the weight of such a task was sinking in. Mark hadn’t been to a convention in nearly a year. He hadn’t even been to a _hotel_ since PAX South. They had no idea how he’d handle either situation. No idea how he’d absorb the biggest crowds yet, the sensory overload, the onslaught of fans; fans who hadn’t seen Mark on the public stage in _months._

It was a big risk; a big step and Mark stared down at Jack’s concerned yet eager face on his laptop screen. He tried to picture staying home, where it was safe and quiet, while knowing Jack was in the States- in California, _mere miles away._ His heart practically convulsed then and there with outright _revulsion_ and it pushed words past his lips. “Jack. I want to try- for us. For _me._ I… I can’t hide out forever. Well, shit, I _can._ But I shouldn’t. I… I need to confront this at some point, right? I need to.. need to try again. _I do._ And if it lets me see you even one second sooner… then I’ll do it.”

“If you’re sure…” Jack still sounded hesitant, but he was grinning. “Then I’ll get us both tickets. I think I still have that Blizzard email somewhere, or, fuck, I’d buy them off a scalper if necessary, or I’d even totally abuse my awesome community and bribe someone into giving me theirs. I _will_ get us tickets, Mark. And you’re right.”

Conventions were a part of Markiplier’s life, just like they were JackSepticEye’s. They’d both missed every convention this year due to Mark’s recovery, and their communities understood, but Mark sort of missed them. If he could go to a convention again, then next year, they could do the convention rounds together. Jack could share Mark’s hotel room and keep him sane, and Blizzcon was a good starter convention. If they showed up without advertising it, recognition might be minimized, and then Mark could get used to the atmosphere of a convention without any pressure from signings, panels, or meet-and-greets.

“This would be good for you,” Jack said. “It’s close enough that you can drive, right? And if it’s too much, we can just leave. No pressure.”

“I’m sure. I wanna do this, Jack. And doing it with you is a damn good opportunity. I’m not about to pass it up. I’ll see what I can do too. Maybe they remember me from my WoW days….” The thought of going to a convention again was nerve-wracking, but Mark combated it with thoughts of seeing Jack again and they almost managed to balance each other out. Add in the usual enjoyment he got from gaming conventions and the pros officially outweighed the cons.

Mark’s smile returned, slow and easy, as he relaxed back into his lounge chair. “Yeah. Yeah, I could drive there. That’ll be a relief. Knowing I can go whenever, without having to deal with airports or catching a plane. We wouldn’t even have to come _here._ We could go _anywhere._ It’s perfect. Let’s do it. Jack, let’s do this. We’ve got two weeks to get some damn tickets and by fucking god we’re gonna do it, or we’re not YouTubers!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	90. 11/3: Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're finally home.

Mark messaged Jack when he arrived at the hotel, and Jack replied with the room number. He was relieved he could bypass the check-in process entirely and head straight for the proper floor. His steps grew faster and faster until his eyes caught sight of the number Jack had told him, and then he nearly stumbled over his own feet in his haste to stop. He was knocking before he could even think about raising his fist.

He pulled away from the door and paused, then leaned in to immediately knock again. It felt like each rap of his fist against the wood was in sync with his pounding heartbeat. _Jack, Jack, Jack_ he was going to see Jack, _finally_ see Jack after a month and a half of separation.

He'd been itching with nerves and anxiety for the past few days; ever since Felix helped to secure them tickets. He tried to hide it, but he knew both men had probably seen right through his “stiff upper lip”. Tyler had during a visit the day prior and immediately coaxed Mark into silly pool shenanigans to help take his mind off the convention.

Bless Tyler, honestly.

That morning had been the worst of it, but Mark managed to drive the few hours to Anaheim without getting himself or anyone else killed. Viewing the hotel from the outside hadn't been so bad. It was the inside that immediately made his stomach clench and his skin crawl. ‘ _Dangerous; dangerous. You're insane! Coming back here. Coming to one of these. It's not safe; it's not, it's not. They could be_ ** _anywhere._** _They're probably watching you!!!’_ The toxic thoughts were circling his head the moment he walked through the doors and he must have looked pale, because one of the doormen offered to get him some water. Mark was quick to decline as politely as he could. ‘ _Too risky. Too risky. What if it's drugged? Remember what happened the last time you trusted drinks from someone else besides Jack?’_

Mark had been forced to shake it off. Jack was waiting for him. Jack, _Jack,_ knowing he'd be running into Jack’s arms like some horribly cheesy Lifetime movie in just a few minutes pushed him on; kept him going. If Jack wasn't there, Mark had no doubt whatsoever he'd have surrendered to his fears and retreated back home.

But Jack _was_ there: right behind this door. Mark waited with baited breath and knocked again. (Was three times in three seconds too much?) Mark heard the metallic click of the deadbolt, and then the door was being flung open.

“ _Mark!_ ”

 _“Jack.”_ Fuck being cheesy. Jack’s name poured from Mark’s lips like he'd been holding it in tight for _years._ It certainly felt like it. Some of Mark’s anxiety eased out with the breath while he drank in the sight of his beaming boyfriend. So much better in person; so much more vibrant. Mark was stunned and awed, staring at Jack until impatience got the best of the Irishman and he found himself pulled into the hotel room.

Only after the door was closed and they were safe in the privacy of their hotel room did Jack fall against him, wrapping his arms around Mark and hugging him tight. “You're _here_!”

Mark’s flash fire panic was damped (not extinguished) by Jack’s embrace and brown eyes flitted around the room, but he forced them back down to Jack: to bright green hair and gleaming blue eyes. Mark let his luggage drop like a stone and fell heavy into Jack’s arms. “I'm here….

“Jack….” Mark hugged Jack almost painfully tight with one arm and buried his face into Jack’s hair. He shuddered, breath tickling across Jack’s scalp while his free hand blindly felt around the door at their backs. ‘ _Lock, lock, lock it's not safe but_ ** _Jack_** _is here doesn't matter need to bolt the door what if they come in_ ** _Jack’s here_** _but it's not enough he's not enough.’_ The click of the deadbolt was like a shot of lithium to his veins and Mark clung to Jack even as he fumbled with the chain for good measure. Only when both precautions were set did his muscles begin to relax. “Jack.. Jack…” It was like all other words escaped him. Mark hugged Jack more fully with both arms and then his knees were buckling. He mumbled an incoherent apology when his legs folded beneath him without a chance of being stopped and he ended up pulling Jack down to the floor as well. Mark trembled. Jack was there, and he was _so happy,_ but at the same time he'd never felt more at risk.

“It's okay, it's okay…” Jack tugged Mark into his lap. He cradled Mark against his chest and pressed kisses to his floofy hair. “I checked the room. It's safe. We're safe here.” He folded his arms tighter around Mark.

“I love you, Mark. I missed you. I love you.”

Mark buried himself into Jack. He hadn't been able to do it since Jack left L.A. and he hadn't forgotten how soothing it was, but being cradled in Jack’s arms served as a very nice refresher to his memory. Wrapped up like this, he felt marginally safer. Even if Jack couldn't do much to hold off the people who had kidnapped him, he was still _something._ Jack was his defender from nightmares and the horrors of his own mind. That made him _safe._

He pressed his face down into the juncture of Jack’s neck and shoulder, kissing the skin with shaky breaths. He curled up and tucked his arms in between them while he listened to Jack; felt as well as heard that Irish trill vibrate against his cheek and his shoulders sagged. “I was so scared I thought I was gonna throw up in the lobby, Jack, I'm…” Jack would brush off his apologies so Mark kissed at Jack’s neck again, nuzzling at his favorite spot. “...I love you. _I love you_ , godJack, I missed you so much. I'm so glad you're here I was so scared, Jack, coming up here.” He paused to draw a few steadying breaths. “...but I don't regret it. You're here. _You're here._ ”

“But you powered through. You made it. You're here. We're together.” Jack cupped Mark's face and kissed him, kissed him properly on the floor just behind the hotel door. “We're _together_ , Mark. It's okay now.”

Jack kissed Mark again, several times, before drawing back and taking a breath. “Want to actually see the room?” he asked. “Kick your shoes off, use the toilet, stretch out on a bed?”

It was Mark’s turn to cup Jack’s face, staring into blue eyes. When he spoke his tone was low and lacked any hint of a joke or tease. “All I want to see right now is you. If I'm gonna lay on that bed it better be with you right now, Sean McLoughlin. I've wanted to hold you like this for almost two months and I'm not about to stop five minutes after finally getting you back. Everything else can wait.” The _world_ could wait for all Mark cared. He pushed up to kiss Jack again and slid his hands back to curl fingers into Jack’s hair. This would be more comfortable if he could straddle Jack’s lap, but he didn't dare. Not while his psyche was still in such a fragile state: telling his body it was in hostile territory. Mark sunk into Jack and kissed him until it felt like his lungs would collapse. When he did break the kiss for air he lingered close; close enough to still feel Jack’s lips on his own with every heaving breath. _“Jack….”_

“Bed's more comfortable,” Jack breathed when Mark finally broke the kiss. “Bed, Mark, let's move to the bed and hide in the blankets and never let go, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.” Mark had to agree the bed sounded a lot better than the floor. He just knew _getting_ to the bed meant getting up and getting off of Jack. He really didn't want to do that, but in the end Jack coaxed him gently through the motions. A steady stream of kisses helped and Mark leaned back against Jack’s arm when it wrapped around him. He was startled to find he wanted Jack’s fingers tracing the letters on his back. No one had touched it since Jack left; no one had probably touched Jack’s…

Technically, there were two beds in the room, double queens for appearances. Jack had dumped his suitcase on one of them already though, so there was only one available bed left. He pushed Mark to sit on the edge, crouching down in front of him to tug Mark's shoes off.

Mark didn't really remember getting to the bed but it didn't matter because Jack was here. Mark leaned forward to comb his fingers through Jack’s hair and breathed. “I wanna touch you. A lot. All over. I want you to touch me. Jack.” He knew he probably sounded like an impatient little kid, but Mark also knew he didn't give a fuck.

“Mmm…” Jack closed his eyes and gave a shiver. “Clothes on or off?” he asked, planting his hands on Mark's thighs and leaning up to kiss him again.

Mark anxiously licked at his lips. If they were home, or at Mark’s house, he would have gladly stripped down to just his boxers so he could feel as much of Jack against his skin as possible. However, they were in unknown territory. They were in a room not too unlike the one Mark had been ripped away from in the dead of night- in only his underwear. Mark paled at the idea of being so vulnerable in such a place again. The blood in his veins chilled and he fumbled for Jack’s hands as the fresh bloom of terror and paranoia almost stole his breath away. “Clothes on.” The words came out rough and fast. He swallowed. “I just.. shirts, maybe. But pants on. Definitely. I… I just want to hold you, right now. For a while. And kiss you. Okay? I need to.. to settle down. I can't get my heart to stop racing.” And not in the good way.

Jack nodded and squeezed Mark's hands. “Climb under the blankets,” he said. He drew away from Mark to catch the toes of his socks, tugging them off as well. “I'll be right there.”

Mark nodded mutely and wiggled his way under the covers. Immediately, he felt less exposed, but still he tucked his head beneath them and curled up a little anyway. Paranoia was a toxic hiss in his ear: telling him **_they_** were there, **_they_** could see him again, **_they_** were watching and waiting. Mark’s returned rationality shrunk in the face of that terrible memory possibly coming back to haunt him. He sucked in large breaths and shivered.

Jack eventually crawled up the bed to join Mark. As soon as they were both safe under the blankets, he offered open arms for him. “C’mere?”

Jack was truly a godsend. His voice banished the one in Mark’s head and Mark clambered into his waiting arms like a man possessed. He didn't surface from the covers, but he did uncurl enough to tangle their limbs together. Still breathing heavily, Mark pressed forward to rest his forehead against Jack’s chest. The tiny thump of Jack’s heartbeat called out to his own: urging it to slow. Mark’s fingers found the spot at Jack’s lower back and slipped beneath Jack’s shirt to gently rub the lettering. “...are you sure it's safe?”

Jack rubbed Mark’s back as Mark burrowed against him, tugging up Mark’s shirt just enough to press fingers against the SM scarred into his skin. “I checked the room. There’s no one else here, just you and me. The only door in is locked three ways, and your bag is in front of it anyway. We’re twelve floors up. No one is coming through the window.” He kissed Mark’s hair and held him close. “We’re safe here.”

Mark released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding when Jack pressed fingers to his scar. What used to be an anxiety inducing gesture had been transformed into more of a comfort; a tactile connection as they touched each other's initials. Mark listened to Jack’s words and Jack’s heartbeat in tandem while he performed a mental checklist to verify all of Jack’s reassurances. Besides, he told himself, the Ship Sinker hadn't surfaced in nearly a year. There were much bigger cons to focus on and chances of them deciding to strike here were slim at best. Anything to convince himself he wouldn't wake in the middle of the night to another intruder as Jack’s voice called out to him again.

“ _I’m_ here. And I love you.”

It was night now, and only Jack occupied the room besides Mark. Jack was safe. The room, for now, was _safe_ and he didn't have to hide. “..o.. okay. O-okay. I got it. I've got this.” The tremor in his tone conveyed otherwise, but Mark squirmed until he could poke his head out from beneath the covers. Now able to properly view Jack past his mussed up floof, Mark wrapped his arms more securely around his boyfriend and stubbornly tugged him closer to nuzzle at his chin with a soft huff. “I love you. I missed you. I'm so glad you're here right now; with me. I… I knew it was gonna trigger my anxiety but I didn't think it'd be this bad. I.. I hope I don't react like this at the convention tomorrow….” Granted, Mark hadn't been kidnapped from the _convention,_ so perhaps the worst was already over.

“You’ve done so much today alone,” Jack murmured, pressing his lips to Mark’s skin. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad you were able to come. I’m so glad _I_ was able to come. These last two weeks have dragged on _forever_.”

“The last month has dragged on forever….” Mark mumbled the words along the curve of Jack’s jaw. He dragged his lips across the stubble there, back and forth, reveling in a sensation almost forgotten. He’d finally managed a real smile when Jack spoke again. Mark had been thinking much the same from the moment he laid eyes on his boyfriend. Actively being pressed up against him, enveloped in everything _Jack,_ made that feeling all the stronger. He squeezed Jack tight and nosed down his neck; pulled his lips wetly back up the expanse just to feel it again. Mark wanted to run his hands and lips all over Jack’s body until he could map it out by memory alone again.

Jack took a deep breath through his nose. “You smell so much better than I remember,” he said. “Fuck, Mark… I feel like I’m home.”

Mark’s heart rate had slowed. His breathing shifted to a shallower, gentler pace that matched the tone of his actions when Mark slid his fingers up and down Jack’s back beneath his shirt, keeping his voice a low whisper. “Me too. We could be sitting in an empty lot and I'd _still_ feel more at home with you than anywhere else alone. I don't care if I _can_ live without you, Jack. I don't _want_ to. I want _you._ ”

“Mark…” Jack shook his head. He sighed as Mark’s fingers smoothed over his tattoo. “Not tonight,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Not tonight. Not the first night.” Jack reached up to angle Mark’s face up so he could kiss him. “Tonight is about you. I’m gonna fucking _worship_ you, Mark. I’ve finally gotten you back under my hands; don’t think I won’t.”

Part of Mark wanted to argue, but the rest of him conceded with that kiss. Much as Jack worshipped _him,_ it was really just as easy for Jack to make Mark cave to his requests. Love did that to people.

Beneath the safety of the blankets, Jack pushed his hands up Mark’s shirt, tickling fingertips across his belly and finding old scars. He found Mark’s nipples too, and Jack flicked his thumbs across them.

Mark melted into warm putty in Jack’s hands with a little sigh. His smile was still there. “Only if I get to worship you ba- _aaack, Jack.”_ The barest brush of fingertips had sent shivers racing up his spine, abs twitching in their wake, but the double flick was his real undoing. Pleasure sparked in his chest like a live wire and he bucked slightly in Jack’s arms. Mark made a quiet, eager noise. He dug fingertips into Jack’s back and kissed him soundly. He breathed through his nose, staring past low lids at lustful blue eyes and nudging his knee purposefully into just the right spot. Two could play the noise making game.

Jack automatically pushed back. He rubbed across Mark’s nipples, then kissed at his chin. “Can I get your shirt off?” he asked, flitting a series of kittenish licks up Mark’s stubble. “Wanna get my mouth on you… we can pull the blankets over our heads and hide from the world…”

Mark released another groan. Of course he'd taken advantage of his sensitive spots when stuck alone in L.A. and been forced to “take care of himself”, but somehow it felt _so much better_ when it was Jack doing it. He knew _exactly_ how to handle Mark and Mark couldn't be more grateful.

He hummed, light and content, as Jack licked him and whispered enticing offers. “Shirt… shirt’s okay. Slowly. And.. and you gotta take yours off too. That's the rule.” If Mark shedded layers and Jack remained fully clothed, it would be too much like that night. His brain might mistake Jack’s caresses for tight grips and painful backhands in the heat of the moment. Gripping the hem of Jack’s shirt, Mark got a head start on rucking it up Jack’s chest. He kissed at a pale cheek and pressed his knee in again; letting Jack react to the friction. “Under the covers,” came his breathless agreement.

Jack tugged his shirt off, whipping it over his hair and chucking it aside. He grabbed the covers and tugged them up, burying himself and Mark in clean white sheets and a thick comforter. Even if someone walked in on them (which they wouldn’t), they wouldn’t be able to see anything.

Mark shuddered out another sigh. Now he felt safe. Now, he could pretend they weren’t in some random hotel room, but instead one of their beds. Maybe even back in Ireland together. It was a pleasant, soothing illusion that allowed Jack to remove Mark’s shirt. He lifted his arms only long enough for the garment to be tugged off and then they were flitting back to Jack’s equally naked torso with his old fervor.

Jack shifted to lean over Mark’s, pressing his mouth against Mark’s abs. “You’ve kept up your exercise regimen,” he noted, tracing muscles with his tongue and kissing up scars. “Me likey…”

Jack was kissing up scars and muscles alike and Mark arched lightly into every flex of his tongue. “ _Fuck,_ I missed your mouth, even if it says some really goddamn dorky things…. ‘Me likey’? Really Jack?” Mark scraped nails down Jack’s back then squeezed at his hips. He resisted the urge to immediately grab at Jack’s ass and instead inched his fingers along in a more subtle manner to maintain the sensual mood. “...see you haven’t,” he mumbled, teasing.

“Shuddup...” Jack complained. He shivered and gave a shallow roll of his hips against Mark’s leg, finding the dip of his sternum and kissing up and up. He stopped at the hollow of Mark’s collarbones and sucked gently on the curve of one. “You like having something to hold onto…”

Mark arched in a gradual, steady way this time and then held it as Jack sucked at his skin. His own crotch was pressed lightly against Jack’s pelvis while his knee steadily ground into Jack’s growing erection. He could do this. Mark never had to tease his captors like this in the room and the little noises Jack kept making were worth the effort enough as he met every push down of Jack’s hips. “So do you.”

His hands found their prize and he groped Jack through his jeans. Mark flexed his fingers, squeezing his palms over the swell of Jack’s ass to slowly massage it. The grip also gave him more leverage to drag his knee between Jack’s legs and he pressed his nose into Jack’s green hair as it was the only bit of his boyfriend readily available. “But you like more than that, don’t you? I know what you like…. I know what you want… Jack. Tell me what you want.” Mark’s voice had truly reached the low rumble that would make Jack’s knees weak. The request was more a venture into dirty talk than Mark searching for ideas this time.

Jack worked one hand beneath the curve of Mark’s back so he could trace his initials and groaned. “How… how much do you want?” Jack asked. He mouthed along Mark’s collarbone and then dipped down to kiss the edge of a nipple. “Want me to be realistic?” He rocked slowly against Mark’s support, then again, harder. “Or want me to tell you what I _really_ want…?”

“I- _nngh.._ ” Mark had to whimper as Jack’s lips drew too close to his nipple. He pressed back with his knee, pulled forward with his hands and swore Jack’s luminous blue eyes could nearly glow in the darkness beneath the covers. “...n-not… not too bad. Not too much, I can’t.. not here. Just… just tell me what you want… what you _know_ I could do for you…. How much you want me to touch you, a-and where, and how… I’ll do it. I’d give you _everything_ if I could, Jack, but I can’t. So I’ll give you what I can….” All the while, Mark’s chest and hips twitched sporadically up towards their only source of contact. He was mostly hard in his own pants and he knew whatever Jack said next would help him catch up.

Jack closed his eyes. He kissed his way up Mark’s chest, settling in close to Mark’s ear as he spoke in the deep, quiet voice Mark had grown an incredible attraction towards.

“I want you to touch me.” As he murmured the words, Jack rolled his entire body, pressing his chest to Mark’s, his swelling dick against Mark’s leg, his fingers up against Mark’s back. “I want you to grab my ass and pull me down, remind me of your strength. I want your mouth on _my_ skin, my nips. I want to feel you hard and heavy against me, _needing_ me like I need you. I wanna get our jeans open, no sharp zippers between us, just our dicks pushing together as you push me over because we both know you like to show off these glorious guns of yours. I want you to pin me down and thrust up against me like you wanna fuck me, like _I_ want you to fuck me. I wanna _feel_ you, Mark, want to know you’re real and you’re here and not just a vivid fantasy, not anymore.”

 _“Hnnn….”_ Mark found himself whining pitifully as Jack whispered tantalizing ideas and scenarios into his ear. He squirmed against Jack, beneath him, seeking to ignite as much friction as possible across their entire bodies. His hands shifted into action of their own accord: trailing with a delay after Jack’s words but taking his suggestions to heart. Mark dragged Jack down by his ass so the bulge in his pants scraped harsh along Mark’s thigh. He pulled until Jack’s knees collapsed beneath him and only his hands could continue supporting his weight. Then Mark wiggled down; gasping sharply as his own dick connected with Jack’s dropped leg. Their lower halves became alarmingly locked together, neither of them quite straddling the other, but they’d reached equal ground on the contact between their legs. _“Fuck, Jack….”_

As he gasped for breath, Jack licked the shell of Mark’s ear and then leaned in closer. “And _then_ , when we’re both hot and sticky and sated, I want us to lie in each other’s arms so tangled together we can’t tell whose limbs are whose, breathing the same air and sharing the same heartbeat, and I want us to fall asleep like that, warm and safe and _loved_.”

Mark reached up for the pale chest now hovering over his face and pressed several kisses to the skin there, drawing his tongue across an errant nipple. He gauged Jack’s reaction, but instead of attacking the bud again he simply bit down on one of Jack’s pecs. He sunk his teeth in, clutched at Jack’s ass and twitched his hips up with a muffled grunt. He did it again- more insistently- with a slight twist of his pelvis that coupled with a tightening of his jaw. ‘ _Zipper, zipper, I can’t squeeze your ass and free our dicks at the same time Jack,_ ** _please.’_**

Jack grunted, then groaned, thrusting against Mark’s thigh, rubbing his own leg against Mark’s trapped erection. He whined for Mark, arching his back and pushing into Mark’s mouth. He _wailed_ as Mark bit him. “Mark, god, _yes_ , just like that!”

 _‘Godfuckyes.’_ Mark couldn’t speak with a mouthful of Jack but his mind sprung up the perfect amalgamation of words and swears for him. The sounds Jack made in response to Mark’s actions were almost as good as the leg rubbing against his crotch. They coaxed him on: teeth releasing Jack’s trapped flesh only to bite down again- this time on the ridge of a collar bone. He swiped his tongue hard and fast along the flesh pinched up between his teeth with a deep, throaty groan bearing a suspiciously close resemblance to Jack’s name. Mark was breathing hard through his nose where it sat tucked in against Jack’s neck. He could feel Jack’s hand draw near, answering his silent plea, and braced himself for contact.

Jack popped the button and worked the zip down on his own fly, and when Mark maintained his composure, Jack reached for his. He cupped Mark’s dick through his jeans, stroking roughly, then worked his fly open.

Mark wasn’t anticipating Jack’s heavy petting: that hadn’t been part of the description. The squeeze and stroke crashed up through his core like a solid jolt of electricity connecting with the tip of his dick and Mark’s hips _leaped_ off the bed into Jack’s hand. His mouth popped off Jack’s chest with a startled cry and then those fingers were _inside:_ past the protective layer of his jeans and tracing along the outline of his cock through his boxers. Mark gave a full body shudder, dug his heels into the bed and _arched_ up against Jack’s fingers with his pelvis.

His hands abandoned their now slippery post on Jack’s ass to scrabble wherever they could reach instead. His nails scraped at skin and his fingertips pressed across Jack’s back, sides, hips and belly until Mark gave up on his hands and used his arms instead. In approximately five seconds, Mark had his arms and legs around Jack in a vice grip. Their chests were crushed together and Jack’s hand had probably become trapped from how their legs were wedged and slotted. Mark kept the joints bent and buried his face into Jack’s shoulder. His breath bounced hot and fast over Jack’s skin as he tried to keep breathing. Trembling with arousal and need, Mark found himself abruptly overwhelmed and not knowing how to handle it. Sweat plastered dark bangs to his forehead while his dick twitched in protest to the forced halt in Jack’s hand and he whined softly. “Jack….”

Jack nuzzled against Mark’s damp hair, relaxing his fingers. “I gotcha,” he said quietly. “I gotcha, Mark, I… well… you got me, but it’s the same thing.” He giggled a little breathlessly, keeping up his soft nuzzling and intermixing gentle kisses. “It’s just me, Mark, just me, I love you. No one else is here. Just me and you. And I love you. I love you so much.”

Jack didn’t move anything besides his face, and Mark was extremely grateful yet again. Without the assault on his senses he could slowly coax his limbs to unwind. His muscles were semi-relaxed by the time Jack whispered his last “I love you” but Mark’s position didn’t change and he felt silly. Mark wasn’t scared or anxious. He just knew the second he moved, he would be at an extreme risk of losing it in the best possible way. All of Jack’s fantastic dirty talk would be put to waste. However, Mark was giggling a bit himself into Jack’s shoulder. His boyfriend was just too much of a nerd to be taken seriously for very long.

The laughter helped, as it always did. Mark’s limbs loosened even more until Jack’s hand was freed from its makeshift prison, but he kept his arms looped around Jack nonetheless while he worked to get his breath back at a more efficient pace. “Love you. I l-love you I just.. It was a lot. It was a lot and it’s been too long, s-sorry, I’m okay. I am. I’m…” A blush, hot and red, flooded Mark’s face as he pressed his cheek against Jack’s shoulder. “...I’m really fucking close to nutting right now, Jack.” The confession came out an embarrassed mumble.

“Stamina day is just as important as leg day,” Jack whispered into Mark’s hair, but he giggled again and rolled for Mark, using their tangled limbs to pull Mark on top of him. “It’s okay, Mark,” he said while he rolled up against Mark’s body. “I’ve been skipping too…” His eyes were bright and his hips insistently rocked upward. Jack must be close too.

“Fuck you, you love my legs.” Mark whispered back but also fell into another fit of giggles. The tension eased out of his shoulders in time for Jack to reverse their positions beneath the thick covers and the shift left him breathless all over again. He couldn’t tell if the cause was his weight suddenly pressing down against Jack’s knee or the breathtaking display of Jack laid out beneath him. Either way, he appreciated both. Mark held himself up with one arm and moved the other to stroke lovingly at Jack’s face. “Libido of teens, fuckin’ stamina of them too. We’re pathetic.” He didn’t care.

“You can let go,” Jack said. His hand found its way to Mark’s back again, his other hand sliding along Mark’s hip and tugging him down. “You can let go whenever, let out all your stress and tension and just… be here. With me.”

Mark sucked in a tight breath through his teeth as Jack rolled up against him. Jaw clenched, he curled forward over Jack and slowly returned the movement. His next breath hitched. Jack was tugging him down, whispering encouragement, urging Mark to let go in a way he hadn’t for too long; to let go because of someone else. Another’s touch, another’s words- _his boyfriend’s_ words. Mark whimpered, clutching hard at Jack’s shoulder and the bed sheets while he leaned in close. “ _Jack._ Jack, I’m g-gonna be fucking loud you’d better kiss me right now unless you want them knocking at our _door_ -” Mark was preparing to tip over the edge into the metaphorical abyss and this time, they weren’t in the privacy of their own place.

“Isn’t there a song like that?” Jack asked. His dick rolled up against Mark’s, their bodies finding a familiar rhythm against each other even after over a month apart. He swallowed up any attempt at an answer Mark had for him and drew him into a deep, passionate kiss. Mark could feel Jack’s hands eagerly coaxing him to orgasm and he couldn’t find a reason in himself not to. He didn’t have the energy or motivation to hold back any longer.

With Jack’s mouth stifling his own, Mark ripped his hips forward with a sharp jerk and an even sharper cry. It was still loud, but hopefully not to the point they’d be notified of a noise complaint. Mark practically sobbed into their kiss as his hips rolled incessantly forward against Jack. He kept moving until nothing else leaked from his dick; until his limbs trembled and sent his body collapsing atop of Jack’s. Mark slumped with a newfound exhaustion that went down to his _bones_ and separated their mouths to breathe easier, but there was still a moan lingering on his lips. _“Jack….”_

Jack gave a shaky laugh, freeing his hand from Mark’s hip to reach between them. Soon enough, he was relaxing into the mattress. He nuzzled against Mark, sighing. “Love you,” he murmured, freeing his hand again to fold it around Mark’s back. “Love you so much…”

Mark was too out of it to really notice Jack cumming, which was probably for the best. However, the nuzzling brought him back and he eagerly returned the gesture with a happy hum. It felt like all of his fear, paranoia and anxiety had shot out with his release and he could just relax against Jack under the covers and sleep forever (well, with the occasional makeout break). Mark rumbled a soft groan from his chest while he adjusted his body to get a little more comfortable. Jack was a string bean so it always took a bit of mindful maneuvering, yet Mark knew Jack’s body by now and was settled again in just a few seconds. His arms lined up with Jack’s sides so his hands could curve lightly over Jack’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin there.

Nibbling contently at Jack’s chin, Mark tucked his head up under Jack’s jaw with a breathy sigh. “Love you more than anything else in the whole world. Even space. Could make an ‘out of this world’ joke but ‘m not _Wade_ and ‘m also tired. G’night.”

Jack huffed softly and patted Mark's back. “I'm so glad you're not Wade. Night, Mark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	91. 11/4: They're Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's worst fears come true.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, sipping his Styrofoam cup of hotel room coffee and watching Mark fuss over the last details of his outfit. They were going to meet up with Felix and Marzia for a proper breakfast and then hit the convention. Mark was trying to decide between a hoodie covering the scars on his arms or going without, with just a t-shirt. He kept checking in a mirror, his agitation obvious.

“Mark?” Jack patted the bed beside him. “Can you come sit with me? There's something...something I need to tell you. Something Marzia discovered last night.”

Mark turned away from the mirror- Christ, a mirror, he could remember when these things could send him into a breakdown- to look at Jack with concern. He was still debating over his choice of clothing but Jack’s serious tone put everything on pause. It could wait. “Jack…? What's up? Did something happen?” He pulled on the hoodie he was eyeing and didn't hesitate to join Jack on the bed. The shirt he’d covered up was the red one with the black detailing a lot of his fans fawned over. It showed off his physique wonderfully, but also completely exposed his neck and arms where streaks of scars with various origins (all from the room) lined his skin like some twisted full body tattoo. Except unlike Jack’s, these were real. “If it's about them being here getting leaked, I already know about that. Even if I hadn't seen the article- which is _everywhere,_ Blizzard really hecked up- all my fans are asking if I'll be meeting up with him here. Since they knew I was coming.”

“Something did happen.” Jack drained his coffee and set it aside before wrapping his arm around Mark's back, pressing against his scar. “Fans aren't the only ones who know they're here.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Mark…

Mark naturally leaned into Jack and returned the gesture. He couldn't feel Jack’s tattoo due to his shirt but Mark knew where it pressed against his arm. He squeezed Jack’s waist a little but was already forcing a breath after the first few words. _‘Aren't the only ones who know they're here’_ and it was just so easy for his brain to change _they're_ to _you're._ It was a terrified mantra that had been running through his mind since yesterday. Mark pulled Jack a little closer and squashed down his growing dread to listen.

“The ship name changed. It's not Septiplier anymore.” Jack opened his eyes to look at Mark.

 _‘Ship name changed’_ , Jack claimed. _‘Not Septiplier anymore’_ because it had been that since January; since Mark was taken. The Ship Sinker hadn't struck again and there were numerous hypotheses posted as to exactly why. Low turnout of celebrity couples at conventions was the most popular.

“It's Melix.”

Felix and Marzia attended a convention together once in a blue moon and it had been leaked they were attending _this_ convention together. Mark had known the new ship name before Jack could even say it. _Melix._ “Ohgod.” Immediately, his heart went out to his friends, but in the same moment white hot fear struck through him to his core. His mind, paranoid already as it was, happily connected the dots for him. Mark wrapped his free arm around his own stomach and squeezed.

_‘The Ship Sinker is after Felix or Marzia. Which means they're going to be here, if they aren't already. They're going to be here._ **_They're here._ ** _They're here and it doesn't matter if I'm not their target this time because_ **_they're here_ ** _they're going to see me they're going to_ **_know_ ** _ohgod ohfuck ohdamn damn dammit I'm-’_

Mark was white as a sheet yet felt like he was going to be physically ill as well. His brown eyes were so wide they looked to be straining in their sockets as he hunched over. A tremble had started up in his back and limbs as a whispered flurry of _“no”_ and _“can't”_ and _“please”_ poured from his lips.

“We don't have to stay.” Jack immediately twisted on the bed to hold Mark. “We don't have to go to the convention at all. Felix agreed to do one small meet and greet in exchange for the tickets, but _we_ didn't agree to anything. We can meet them for breakfast and just...not go. It's gonna be okay, Mark. I won't let you get hurt again. I promise.”

Mark turned into Jack’s embrace in a heartbeat and buried his face into Jack’s shoulder where he continued forcing in deep breaths. Both to stop himself from hyperventilating and making things worse, and to prevent himself from possibly throwing up. His arm relinquished its hold on his stomach in favor of clinging to the front of Jack’s shirt. He was still quivering lightly, but he felt fortified by Jack’s words and his hug. Knowing he had the option to pull out, to change his mind, at any time was important to him. Just as important as having an out for their physical sessions, or a party. It took some of the weight off Mark’s shoulders. Shakily, he nuzzled into Jack’s. His lips were pursed so tight they were white at the edges while Mark picked apart his options.

He could go home with Jack. Sure, he'd just driven hours, but it wasn't a big deal. Especially not with Jack in the passenger seat this time. He could go home and avoid any chance of running into his old abusers. It would just be Jack and himself in the comfort and safety of Mark’s house (plus Chica, of course). It'd be wonderful, but Felix and Marzia would still be here. They'd still be in danger; alone. His fans would understand his retreat but Mark knew they'd be disappointed. What if he couldn't work up the courage to try another convention after this scare? Mark would be running away. There was no sugar coating it- not in his mind.

Or, he could stay. Mark could stay and risk seeing them again; risk all the scenarios his mind had been conjuring up since his release. Jack would be in more danger too, but Mark already knew he'd want to stay. If for nothing else, just to be there as support for Felix and Marzia. Jack and Felix had been close friends for a while now (Mark was _not_ jealous). They were extremely protective of each other and Mark hardly wanted anything to happen to the other couple either. Felix was his friend too, and Marzia was one of the sweetest people he'd seen on the Internet; even if he’d only ever met her once in person. They could stay and be there for each other. Mark and Jack knew what to look for. The fans would be supportive- inspired maybe even, to see Mark stand up to his fears. It could give them hope and confidence in themselves and Mark _wouldn't_ be running away.

He wouldn't be letting them win.

That thought cemented itself in his mind and Mark drew one last breath before pulling his face from Jack’s shoulder. His expression was solemn but determined as he looked his boyfriend in the eye. He'd come to his decision and he was going to stick to it. For the fans, for his friends, for _Jack,_ but most importantly for himself. The Ship Sinker didn't control his life. _He did._ “I'll stay.”

Jack sagged a little and smiled. “Oh _good_. I mean, not that I _want_ you to be uncomfortable, but Felix and Marzia were talking yesterday. They don't want to rely on convention security, not after…

“You and I are the only two people here that they _know_ have nothing to do with those bastards. We can stay with them, make sure they're never alone, walk them back to their room at night and help them check...We can keep them safe.” Jack rucked a hand through his hair and squeezed his other arm around Mark's back. “I don't want either of them to go through what I did. I _definitely_ don't want them to experience what you did.”

Mark watched and listened to Jack, and he knew he'd made the right decision. He snuggled a bit closer to Jack and released his shirt to wrap both arms more securely around him while he kissed at Jack’s cheek. “That's what I was thinking too…. We didn't have that, when they… I want to help. I want to do anything I can to stop anyone else from suffering. They're not gonna win their game this time. They're _not._ ” He took another shaky breath and leaned in to nuzzle at the side of Jack’s head. “...I-I'm not gonna lie, though, Jack. I'm scared. I am. I'm… I'm fucking terrified, let's be real here. I was already anxious about the convention but now this… I don't know how useful I'm actually gonna be. I might just drag you all down.”

“I know,” Jack said, hugging Mark and rubbing his back. “I know. It's easy to say we're not targets anymore, but even if we knew that for a fact, it doesn't change how we're feeling. If we all stick together, though...They can take one. Maybe even can deal with two. But _four_?” Jack kissed Mark's forehead. “We'll stay together. We'll keep them safe. You won't have to _do_ anything, just be another set of eyes. And if you need time or space, we can go with you, get you somewhere private and safe. Just let us know, okay?”

Jack rested his cheek on Mark's hair. “Your comfort comes first.”

Mark still felt queasy and anxious, but he got out a stiff nod. Logic; logic and rationality were his friends. Jack was right, there was strength in numbers. Eight eyes had a chance of spotting something suspicious better than two or four. There were ways Mark could help that didn't include direct confrontation. He tucked his face in against Jack’s and just breathed his boyfriend in. His fingers slipped under the hem of Jack’s shirt to brush against the familiar tattoo. ‘ _Not this time. Not again.’_

“I'll tell you. I will. And we'll stop them. They won’t get their hands on anyone else. Not on them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	92. 11/4: Moment of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark faces his fears.

In the end, Felix and Marzia really did turn away the extra convention security. The four of them were going to guard each other and no one would go _anywhere_ unaccompanied. Mark and Jack would walk Felix and Marzia back to their room every night, and stay with them while they checked their room for intruders. Even trips to the bathroom would be done in groups (and Marzia would have a trio of men waiting outside the women’s room for her reappearance). That actually worked so well that by the end of the first day, the men were doing it too. It really was just awkward to go to the urinals en masse.

However, the convention had been going surprisingly well for Mark. They were smart to avoid one of the larger ones for his first attempt. Sure, there were still hundreds of people flooding the halls and rooms, but it wasn’t _PAX._ Even so, the amount of people present in every square inch of the building was sizable. Mark had worked up the nerve to step inside, only to abruptly turn on his heel and walk right back out. Jack had followed him to settle his nerves and reassure him; Felix and Marzia lingering just inside. They could all still see each other, but the couple gave them their privacy and Mark was grateful.

It wasn’t the last time Jack had to pull Mark back from his own head as he was easily overwhelmed or startled throughout the day. Thankfully, they always managed to find some unoccupied nook or a spare room to hide out in until he could calm down again. Felix and Marzia did their best to help with his minor anxieties and served as surprisingly good buffers. He’d finally gotten to meet Marzia in person again, and he was happy to see her sweetness hadn’t diminished even a little bit.

Of course, most often it was Jack he turned to, or whom could always be found lingering at his side. They would occasionally risk holding hands when they _knew_ no one was around to see (besides Felix and Marzia), but they still weren’t public with their relationship yet and coming out at a convention where the Ship Sinker was lurking was absolutely out of the question. Neither of them was ready to take that step, though with the amount of teasing Felix threw their way it certainly _felt_ like they’d come out of the closet. Jack was always just a cross between amused and embarrassed by it; Mark freely tossed a few taunts back. It was a good stress reliever from their “constant vigilance”.

There was more to the convention than Melix and Ship Sinker fears, though. Felix might have been the only one with a legitimate meet-and-greet, but there were plenty of fans to go around. Felix’s subscribers tended to be ones for Mark and/or Jack as well; the same went for Blizzard fans in general. They were recognized and addressed by strangers on more than one occasion and many of them asked for an autograph or selfie. PewDiePie, Markiplier and JackSepticEye were still considered some “holy trinity of YouTube” and it always cracked Mark up.

Six months ago, he couldn’t have done it: could not have mustered up a proper smile for a fan, or let them shake his hand, or gotten in front of a camera. Six months ago, his appearance would have caused too many tears. But it wasn’t six months ago. It was the present, and Mark had fully recovered physically; not quite as strong as he used to be, but getting there. He fit his clothes again, anyway. Mentally and emotionally, it was still a process. The healing there never really ended, but it was better. _So_ much better than he had been in the hospital, or even back in their little Irish cabin by the river. Mark’s fears and anxieties fluctuated wildly but he kept tabs on them and took a breather when necessary. The fans understood. They were more than happy just to see him again; to see him out and about and _alive._ He had teared up more than once that day, and every time was for good reasons.

After a long day they’d been heading back to the hotel and Mark was all too eager to just collapse onto his bed with Jack for a good night’s sleep. Keeping himself going throughout the day had been exhausting, but he did it. He knew he wasn’t the only person proud of that fact. One of said people was currently taking his sweet old time in the bathroom.

Mark glanced at the door from where he waited with a fidgeting Marzia. She was clutching at her purse in an obvious show of nervousness while Felix stood a few feet away, taking pictures with more fans. She’d gotten over some of her “stage fright” after being exposed to the crowds but it had been a long day for _everyone_ and Mark offered her a reassuring smile. She spotted it and shot him one back. Things were going to be okay. There’d been no signs of the Ship Sinker and they were leaving the convention center. They’d be safe and sound in their rooms as soon as Jack finished up in the bathroom. Call him paranoid, but he thought Jack only had to take a piss. Did he accidentally trickle on his jeans a little? It happened; Mark was guilty of the blunder himself. Maybe he should…

A scream echoed out from the bathroom and made his blood run cold. All the color drained from Mark’s face as it went slack and his eyes widened almost comically. In an instant, his head was whipping towards the door. “Jack??” The name was said more to himself than its owner, seeing as his fellow YouTuber probably wouldn’t have heard it through the wall, but the scream came again and Mark’s heart dropped into his stomach. It simmered there in the digestive juices as a miniature crisis enveloped him.

 _‘That was Jack._ ** _Jack_** _’s screaming.’_ It wasn’t one of his ordinary, joking screams, either. In it was pure fear, and desperation: a cry for help if he’d ever heard one. He should know, he had made _plenty._ That meant Jack must be in some sort of trouble- no, not just trouble. **_Danger._** People only screamed like that when there was a distinct, immediate threat. Something- or some _one-_ was threatening Jack in the bathroom at a convention. **_Threats and danger at the convention._** Finally, his fears were being realized, but worse than he could have ever imagined because _he_ wasn’t the target- Jack was. Mark turned and met Marzia’s equally wide eyes. She looked as pale and terrified as he felt.

A more pained, pitched scream blasted through Mark’s swirl of thoughts and was then abruptly cut-off. He saw Marzia flinch. His heart spring-boarded back up into his throat and firmly wedged itself there: choking him, making it harder to breathe. Jack was _in trouble,_ and he was just _standing there._ Hell, he probably could have called for help by now but no, of course not, his mind was still too damaged to perform even _that_ simple task. Marzia was probably suffering from shock, like a deer in the headlights. He bit his lip, dug fingers into his scalp, and whimpered almost inaudibly. ‘ _What should I do??’_ became ‘ _What would_ ** _Jack_** _do??’_ and in that moment, he knew.

Mark knew in the way of steady babbling in the background while he was poked and prodded. Knew in the way calloused hands gripped his broken ones and refused to let go unless he wanted them to. Knew in bright blue eyes that changed like the sky and a smile that never failed to lift his spirits. Knew in the man who had brought him back from what could be considered pseudo-death and made him feel **_alive_** again. Made the outside world, the reality, _their_ reality- real and comprehensible and safe.

Jack made Mark safe and now, Mark was going to do the same for Jack. Fears of what might lay beyond the door be damned. Fortified by the thought, he sucked down a deep breath that filled his core to the brim and shoved his way through the door. “Jack!! Jack?!” He was almost startled by the strength and severity of his own voice. When had it gotten that back?? Mark shook it off. There were far more concerning noises present in the bathroom than the quality of his voice. Splashes and desperate, heaved breaths; chokes and splutters and a low growl that very nearly glued his feet to the tile. His hair stood on end and he didn’t even notice when Marzia tumbled in through the door after him in a flurry of long, dark hair and skirts.

_“I’ll make sure he gets to bed safely.” “Got your key?” “Camera’s disabled, got the package.”_

Mark had forgotten about that last one. Something that filtered through the drugs stuffing his brain into a box as he was rolled easily out of his hotel room by the kidnapper. He had _always_ suspected his bodyguard played some kind of role in the events of that night, but the man had slipped through justice’s fingers. Now, as he kicked the stall door open hard enough to have it slam into the brute’s back with a force, he knew. Mark _knew_ they had been set up from the start and it set heat into his skin but nothing made his blood boil the way Jack, laying sprawled and bloody and _sobbing_ with his face shoved into a **fucking toilet** , did. Mark had never been angry enough to see red. Not through all of his controller-busting tantrums, not even with his captors- he had been too upset, too _afraid_ to get that mad.

Now he knew what they meant with the phrase. Jack was still sobbing, coughing out something that might be his name, and Mark’s fists clenched until the skin there was bone white. He rose to his full height, shoulders squared, jaw set and brows furrowed into an expression which held no mercy for the man swiftly turning on him. He was swearing and holding his back while he faced the new threat; leaving his victim to wallow on the floor and any remaining hesitance Mark might have felt went to shreds when he realized Jack’s pants were down.

“Jack… oh god, _Jack…._ ” Marzia whispered from behind him, horrified, but Jack’s aggressor was already talking.

“Who the fu- oh. It’s _you._ Holy fucking shit, I guess I should’ve seen this coming. The puppy’s been trailing his master around the convention all day long. Bet he leashed you up outside for guard duty too, huh? Or were you just jealous, ‘cause you knew your latest master was getting some instead of you?” The man hadn’t noticed Marzia yet. He was sneering, throwing verbal jabs at Mark’s weak spots as he recovered himself but Mark didn’t even flinch. The hatred in his eyes seeped into the air like a tangible venom. “How about we leave him in the can where he belongs, and see if you still remember some of that training, huh? C’mon. Get on your knees and beg real pretty for me, Markimo-”

Mark had never lashed out at something so fast; not even when he was scared out of his wits from a video game. His fist connected with the man’s flapping jaw and it stung, but it also felt _good._ Jack’s attacker sputtered, enraged, but Mark wasn’t done. He’d been training _months_ for a situation just like this one and he knew what he had to do next. Mark sunk his fingers deep into the larger man’s shirt and threw all his weight to the side. His opponent was already off-balance from the punch so he took advantage of that. The brute’s shoulder clipped the bathroom stall and after a few stumbling steps the two of them went sprawling across the tile. Mark was ready for it, though. He knew he had to get the guy on the ground or he wouldn’t last long. Now that they were equal, he could act.

He scrambled up onto hands and knees and threw his weight at the man. Crooked fingers shoved into shoulders even wider than his own. Meaty hands grabbed at Mark’s biceps and they shifted into a sloppy, wild grapple on the floor. All of his focus and concentration went into subduing the man beneath him- over him, no, _no,_ Mark bent his knees and forcefully _kicked_ the attacker over onto his back again. The _only man_ he would _ever_ lay beneath was Jack. Mark used his dexterity to roll up and threw himself bodily at his opponent once again.

A desperate left hook caught the swell of his cheek bone but Mark didn’t flinch. He reared his head back a beat later and socked the man straight in the face. His vision had tunneled into a sea of red and where it would _hurt_ when he threw his kicks and punches; what would make the man under him cringe and howl like he had made Jack howl. Like he had made Jack scream crazily for Mark as he was raped and drowned. Mark’s nerves were buzzing with adrenaline and nearly a year’s worth of grief. Of having no physical manifestation to take out his emotions on. He channeled all of his fear and despair and bitterness into his limbs, and they pummeled it into the man’s body.

Left hook, right hook, sucker punch; he pressed his palm to the man’s forehead and _shoved_ his head back against the tile when he went for a headbutt and remembered how it felt when the same had been done to him, over and over, when he tried to fight back but couldn’t. It wasn’t a clean or pretty brawl. Mark was taking his fair share of hits; primarily to his sides and abdomen. He swung his body to dodge another attempt at his face only for the man to grab a fistful of his hair and Mark’s head was jerked roughly to the side, forcing a strangled cry from his throat. The other sent him a leering smile through bloodied teeth.

Mark grimaced at the compromising, _triggering_ position and his mind raced; terror creeping back into his senses. Like a miracle, he noticed the attacker’s dick was still hanging half out of his pants and didn’t hesitate. He rammed his knee up into the other’s crotch until the pained cries hit a new octave, then reached down to grip at the long flaccid shaft and **_tug._** His hair was released but Mark wasn’t done.

“That’s what you wanted, right?? For me to jerk you off? Or maybe you wanted to shove it inside me. Like you did to Jack. **_Jack._** I’ll fucking kill you for touching him like that. For making him experience what **_I_** went through because of sick, perverted bastards like **_you._** How dare you put your disgusting hands on him- try to kill him? Like he’s a _dog,_ right? Like he’s somehow less than you? I should **_tear it off._** ” Mark’s words were a cold, vicious snarl as he twisted the man’s dick in his hand. The guy wasn’t even screaming anymore; just outright sobbing from the agony. Mark sunk a fist into his gut, and even those petered off into faint wheezes. It still felt good, but something about the situation was also starting to make Mark distinctly uncomfortable.

“Ma-rk!”

“Mark, he's down!” Felix shouted. “He's _down_ , Mark, you won, get your ass over here!”

Mark wasn’t a violent man. He wasn’t even all that aggressive- manic would be a better term, when he went a bit crazy in his videos for the fans. He had never condoned violence or hurting others in any fashion. Just the thought made him uncomfortable, but then he had been thrown into a world where the exact opposite of those ideals encompassed _everything_ and it didn’t matter _what_ he believed in, because he would still be tortured nonetheless. It was wrong; it was _unfair._

The man beneath him deserved _everything_ Mark had given him. Mark wanted to deliver more damage; wanted to make up for every single time he was struck or molested without mercy but Jack was choking out his name from across the bathroom, and Felix’s voice was prying into his toxic thoughts as well. He slowed to a distinct pause.

Drawing shaky, uneven breaths, Mark’s vision started to clear. He was still on top of the man, straddling him haphazardly and gripping his penis. He grimaced and quickly released the appendage, wiping his palm and fingers on the man’s shirt. There was blood on his knuckles, and they stung something fierce after cracking into bone over and over again but he relished the feeling. It was proof he was alive; proof he had been successful in stopping Jack’s aggressor. The man beneath him was a cringing, wheezing wreck and wouldn’t be getting up on his own any time soon.

Mark’s next inhale shivered as it traveled down his throat, and he felt something wet trickle down his cheeks. It dripped onto his jeans to leave little spots of darker blue but he had already figured out they were tears. His lips trembled with the sudden onslaught of emotions that had been pushed aside in his rush, while Mark sniffled and then hiccuped on a restrained sob. Disgruntled by his body’s reaction to fucking _victory,_ he swiped at his face. Blood smeared onto his cheeks and his glasses almost fell off from the careless action. “Jack… J-Jack….” _Jack._ He still needed to help Jack.

“Sean!!” Mark scrambled to his feet; fell back down as his back and ribs violently protested but he gritted his teeth. There was still enough adrenaline coursing through him to ignore a majority of his aches and pains. He wouldn’t let them stop him. _Jack needed him._

With a few heavy grunts and some wheezing of his own, Mark crawled over to the crowded stall. Blood was still smeared on his face and knuckles; trickling down his chin from a split lip. He didn’t care. Mark only had eyes and concerns for the Irishman cradled in Felix’s arms. _“Jack.”_ Gasping and still crying himself, his hands went to Jack, dragging him away from Felix and into his own lap though his arms shook. “Sean, _Jesus,_ Sean….” Mark didn’t care if it was his real name, he needed to hear it; needed to know the arms holding him were safe and dear- practically family. He held Jack in his arms while he cried, not bothering to stop and think of how the position mirrored that evening in the rain over two hundred days ago.

Jack, meanwhile, sobbed into Mark’s shoulder. He was leaving a huge wet splotch across Mark’s shirt and his pants were still hanging low around his knees. He was small and frail in his arms. Logically, Mark _knew_ his boyfriend hadn’t shrunk an inch just because of a beating and near death experience, but the way he curled up against Mark’s chest- broken and sobbing- made it seem like he would just slip through the cracks in the tile if Mark let him go for even a moment. He hugged the Irishman as close as he could manage and let him soak his shirt; let him soak the hoodie he’d thrown on to conceal the scars on his arms. It was the least he could do for Jack in that moment. Just let him cry, and get it all out, the way Mark had in that room after the first day.

Except Jack would have someone to support him while he cried. Mark’s fingers dug into Jack’s side, his hip; nose tracing the fair hairline spotted with blood. He could still feel the tears slipping from his cheeks but had stopped caring about them because Jack’s were more important. He kissed at Jack’s wet forehead and pressed his cheek to sodden green locks, cradling Jack like a treasure, like he was the most valuable thing in the world. To Mark, he was.

“Are you, are you, are you…” Still crying and coughing, Jack stretched up a hand, his blue eyes searching Mark’s dark ones. “ _Are you okay?_ ”

Yet Jack- sweet, worrying Jack- was cupping Mark’s blood-stained jaw and rubbing at his stubble and croaking stammered words in a wispy, raw voice. Asking if he was okay; inquiring about his well-being as if _Mark_ was the one who had been raped and then nearly _drowned_ just for screaming. _Jack_ was the one lying in a curled up, bloodied, shivering mess in Mark’s arms but still the stubborn man insisted on checking him. Mark was exasperated and flummoxed and just so _relieved_ in the best possible way as he turned his head; pressing kiss after kiss to Jack’s palm, his fingers. He sobbed, “Who cares?!”

“ _I do!_ ” Jack reached up with his other hand, catching Mark’s face and pulling him down for a kiss… a kiss that caused his nose to bump against Mark’s cheek. He whined in pain, pulling back, cupping a hand protectively around it. “I’m fine, Mark, _I’m_ fine, but you...fuck, you just beat up that dickbag…”

Mark wasn’t expecting a kiss, and wouldn’t have really advised it, but he accepted it nonetheless. Then, when Jack pulled back with a pained whine, it served as the perfect example. Still, he didn’t have the heart to call him out on the goof up. Jack was hurt, in more ways than one, and he was probably going to act kind of stupid because of it. Mark had been much the same on numerous occasions so he trailed fingertips up and down Jack’s back in an effort to soothe him as the man whined.

“Jack, shut up, you are definitely _not_ fine. And yeah, neither is _that_ guy, but I’m gonna be blunt for a second and say I don’t really give one singular fuck- singular, Jack, not plural- about him. All I care about right now is _you._ ”

“You saved me… Mark... _you saved my life…_ ” Jack burrowed back into Mark’s shoulder, pressing his forehead against Mark’s hoodie.

Belatedly, Mark had the thought to blindly tug up Jack’s pants as best he could while still cradling the YouTuber- but he didn’t look. He didn’t want to see the aftermath of what must have happened because the last thing he- _they-_  needed right now was for him to be triggered. Mark bottled away the sharp ache in his chest, the nausea in his stomach, and buried it for later. Right now people were craning their necks at the door, trying to get around the couple barring their entrance and Jack deserved to retain whatever dignity he could. Keep what Mark had been denied. He kissed at the fringe of green again almost reverently and yes, there was a nestled ember of pride smoldering away in his chest. Triumph at having drop-kicked the nasty villain and saved his beloved from their evil clutches like something out of a Disney movie- but definitely not for kids. He pressed his nose into Jack’s wet hair and exhaled a sigh.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe, Jack…. Stand up to anyone…. I don’t care if they hurt me in the past, all I cared about was helping you…. I’m so glad you’re alive…. I’m so glad he didn’t….” Mark hiccuped, but resisted the urge to start sobbing again. That wouldn’t help anything. Instead, he noted how utterly _drenched_ Jack still was, and decided to do something about it.

Recalling Irish rain and a soft hoodie, Mark wiggled an arm out from around Jack’s body to unzip his. He managed to shrug the thing off with some humorously awkward effort; absolutely refusing to take both hands off the man curled up in his lap. Once obtained, he took a moment to dab at the worst of the mess on Jack’s face and hair, then wrapped the larger article of clothing around Jack’s soaked torso. He even tucked the collar up close to Jack’s face, remembering how he was comforted by his best friend’s scent. He shuddered a sigh, and didn’t even spare a thought to exposed arms spotted with scars from torture and surgery alike; something he had fretted over all morning in the mirror. Jack was more important. Jack _needed_ it more than he did and if it meant letting his fans see the aftermath of Hell, then he’d make the sacrifice. He kissed at Jack’s head again. Hopefully no one would catch a glimpse, but he wasn’t going to let that risk stop him from comforting Jack.

Jack, in that moment, was all that could possibly matter. “Just hang on, Jack, okay? Someone’s had to have called 911 by now, and security is probably on their way, and I don’t know if I could intimidate the paramedics into riding with you in the ambulance but we’re _together_ now and I’ll kiss you absolutely stupid if I need to prove it to them so they’ll let me stay. I won’t let you go, Jack. I promise, I’ll never let you go.”

“I’d kiss you again if it didn’t hurt so much,” Jack whispered. “God, I love you. So fucking much. And I…”

Jack fell silent, then gave an amused snort into Mark’s shoulder, followed by another pained yip. “ _Ow._ Don’t make me laugh, you _goober_.”

“No kisses until you at least get your nose patched up. Mark’s orders.” It was a disappointing thing to say but he was putting his foot down. Hearing Jack make pained noises wasn’t worth the kisses that caused them, though the declaration of love melted his heart into appropriately gooey mush. “I love you too…. Please don’t get mad at me for making you laugh with a broken nose, I swear I’m innocent. That movie stole the lines from me. Can’t I be romantic without needing a Titanic comparison just ‘cause your name _happens_ to be Jack??” He pouted a bit, then nuzzled at Jack’s hair again. After nearly losing him, just like that, he wanted to keep several points of tactile contact maintained at all times.

Then the crowd gathered at the door was finally parting, and several members of the convention’s security force were pushing inside. With them were a pair of paramedics who had brought along a stretcher.

Mark tried to explain the situation to the paramedics, to security, making sure they _knew_ the other man laying on the floor was a criminal and dangerous and “ _fuck, please, just help Jack.”_ He was forced to relinquish the Irishman so they could get a better look at him but he held onto his good hand the entire time, refusing to let go no matter what. Even when they put Jack on the stretcher- concerned he might have a concussion- Mark stood and walked with them, bearing no mind to the crowd that parted anxiously around them like some modern mockery of Moses and the Red Sea.

He was relatively sure Felix and Marzia had come up at some point but it was mostly a blur. Shocked questions, flurried apologies, more than one hand holding Felix back from launching himself at the man whom had been laid out on a second stretcher. The police had assured Mark he would be transferred to the criminal ward of the hospital, but Mark still wished they would drag him out by the heels.

Still, Mark did his best to reassure Felix and Marzia alongside a dazed Jack. They reached the ambulance all too soon and Mark nearly climbed right on in but one of the paramedics stopped him, and his heart immediately sank. Feeling a frantic edge sink its teeth into his skin, he tried to stammer about their relationship; how Jack was from another country and didn’t _have_ anyone else to be there for him. No one to keep him feeling calm and safe during a no doubt stressful ambulance ride but the paramedic looked dubious, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before they just shut the doors on his face. Jack protested too, pleading with the paramedics, but the fact remained Mark _wasn’t_ family and the doors were shut without Mark beside him.

Mark watched the two ambulances drive away, though his gaze was focused on one in particular. He knew he should probably sit down. The adrenaline was trickling fast out of his system and soon all the damage his body had taken was going to rear its ugly head in his senses, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. What was the point, if Jack wasn’t there? If he wasn’t with Jack? The Irishman had just undergone a serious trauma. He’d been brutalized, nearly killed and… and…

“Mark? Mark, he’s gonna be okay. He’ll be back soon…”

He shuddered and clenched his fists. The dull sting in his still bloodied knuckles rang against the hollow feeling growing in his chest. His eyes were unfocused; expression blank when Felix came up and addressed him. Mark didn’t look at the other man, but he did respond verbally. His voice was hoarse and thick with stopped up emotion. “He’s alive. He’s alive, he’ll survive, but he’s not… h-he’s not…” Mark’s face crumpled as wetness gathered up in his eyes. _“Jack’s not gonna be okay.”_

“You’re okay,” Felix said. “Mark, you got to be okay again. You’ll help Jack be okay again. Okay? Mark, Markifart, Jack _needs_ you to be there for him right now. He needs you to…” Felix looked Mark over and swallowed, “he needs you to get bandaged up, and then to go back to the hotel and wait for him. Can you do that? Marzia and I will be right with you. I promise. _We_ promise. We’ll stay right with you until Jack is back. Until he’s back in your arms.”

Mark didn't reply immediately. He’d _heard_ Felix’s words, he had, but his mind didn’t retain them for long. They didn’t stick and it showed, but at last he turned to face his fellow YouTuber with fresh tears dripping from his chin. They were stained a light pink by the blood on his face and Mark sniffled. “I fucked up.”

The paramedics had left with the ambulances, but the convention’s medical staff were more than equipped to handle Mark’s minor injuries. He conceded to being led over to a bench so one could patch him up but his emotional state was something only Jack would really be able to mend. He cried, soft and quiet, as the medic cleaned and disinfected his busted knuckles. Mark only really reacted with a slight hiss and wince to the sting of alcohol. He looked over to where Felix lingered with Marzia; expression crushed. “I sh-should’ve been faster. I shouldn’t have just _stood there._ I should’ve… should’ve _gone i-in with him._ Like we did before. I could’ve… I could’ve stopped him, I could’ve _done something_ I…” Mark hiccuped a rough sob and was steadied by the man wrapping his knuckles.

“Mark, stop.” Felix shook his head. “This is exactly what Jack did when they got you. He should’ve stayed with you, should’ve known better, should’ve checked on you sooner… just _no_. You can’t live like that. Jack _is safe._ He’s hurt, but he’s _safe_ , Mark. You know exactly where he is. You know he’s being watched by doctors and nurses and police, and you know he’s going to be with you again soon. Jack is _safe_ and not kidnapped and not dead and not being tortured _because_ you took action. Think about that. Yeah, maybe you could’ve stopped it, or I could’ve stopped it, or Marzia could’ve stopped it, but we didn’t know. So we _couldn’t’ve_. You didn’t fuck up, Mark. You saved Jack. And if that bastard’s the same guy who nabbed you, then you saved me _._ And _Marzia_. Mark, you… if _that’s_ the Ship Sinker, or at least part of it, _you stopped that._ And I’m sure Jack will consider his trauma a small price to pay for ending that monster.”

“It wasn’t just him… it wasn’t just him, he wasn’t even there, he wasn’t one of them, he wasn’t….” Mark knew the hands of his abusers. He also, unfortunately, knew their dicks. Neither matched up between the man he’d fought and the three who had tormented him for months. They were still out there; they _were._ Mark supposed he might have indeed saved Melix if the brute was their grab-guy, but that felt like a small accomplishment. Especially in the wake of knowing Jack would be forever scarred, just like Mark was. They’d been making such good progress....

Mark attempted to scrub at his face with his bandaged hands but was stopped by the medic. “Please mind the gauze. Here.” The man passed Mark a few tissues and gave him a moment to clean up his face, then he was dabbing more disinfectant at Mark’s split lip. “Any other injuries? Do you feel light-headed? Nauseous? Are you disoriented?”

“No, no… My head’s fine. I’m fine, just… gonna be sore. My ribs….” Mark hissed as he attempted to sit up and the medic reached for his shirt.

“I’ll just take a loo-”

 _“No!!”_ Mark didn’t mean to snap. The word just flew out: fueled by his sudden spike of fear. He shoved the hem of his shirt down until the material stretched and scooted away from the man. Mark could feel himself starting to tremble again as any remaining adrenaline eek’d out and left his body to its own devices. He grimaced. “I mean… I mean it’s okay. I’m _o-okay._ You don’t… nothing’s broken. I’m good. Th-thank you.” Mark turned his face down; embarrassed. Nonplussed, the medic turned to Felix and Marzia as if to confirm leaving Mark as he was would be okay.

“We’ll take care of him,” Felix said, stepping closer, angling himself between Mark and the paramedic. “Make sure he ices up and rests and all that crap. Can we take him back to the hotel now?”

Mark’s frightened gaze flicked between Felix and the medic with slight confusion because he was used to _Jack_ defending him. Felix was new. Felix wasn’t even really the type to defend Mark _before_ he was kidnapped; they didn’t have that type of relationship. To see the SuperTuber pushing himself into the minor confrontation for Mark’s sake was odd, but appreciated.

The paramedic looked slowly (dubiously, like the one on the ambulance) between the two men before seeming to decide pushing unknown boundaries just wasn’t worth it today. He probably had enough to deal with after the incident in the bathroom so he sighed and closed up his bag. “Yes. Ice, like you said. Go to a hospital if he’s experiencing any severe abdominal pain or having trouble breathing. If he sleeps, wake him every two hours to check on him. I’ll give you some more gauze and some Ibuprofen for the pain.”

Mark was still tense and on-edge, but he accepted the little bag of medical supplies with a quiet “thank you”. He didn’t relax or speak again until the man had left, then he slumped where he sat; hugging the bag to his chest as if it could possibly substitute Jack. He’d stopped crying, but he was still sniffling a little. “I _am_ fine. It’s just.. g-gonna bruise. I didn’t want…” Mark exhaled shakily. “...thanks, Felix.”

“I get it, bro. Jack’s been venting to me for months. _I get it._ ” Felix offered Mark a hand. “Let’s just find a way to get back, okay?”

“Uber’s coming,” Marzia piped up. She had been quiet all this time, but tapping away on her phone and she blushed a little. “Her name is going to be Jessica.”

Mark looked from Felix to Marzia, then sighed. Maybe Jack wasn’t there, but Mark also wasn’t alone and neither was Jack; even if he was surrounded by medical personnel instead of friendly faces. Felix was right, he’d be back soon. Then they could talk about what happened but right now, Mark had to get back to the hotel. He had to be ready for Jack’s return. He stared at the offered hand for a few long moments. “...yeah. Yeah, okay. Th-thanks, Marzia, Felix.”

He took the hand and managed to get back onto his feet with Felix’s assistance. The pain in his face was obvious as the muscles in his torso stretched and flexed, but he’d live. Mark grabbed up his glasses from the bench but cursed once they were back on his face. “ _Fuck._ The lens is cracked. I didn’t even… all the blood, and everything else… fuck. That asshole owes me a new pair of fucking glasses.” Mark had been wondering how the frames miraculously survived the onslaught. They’d hung onto his face by a thread, but one of the punches must have done them in without Mark realizing. At least he could still see.

“Little bit of tape’ll fix that right up, good as new,” Felix assured Mark, patting his hand. “You got spares with you? Contacts? Back at the hotel?”

“Felix, you can’t put tape on glasses…” Marzia frowned, but Felix shushed her.

“Duct tape fixes everything.”

“Gonna need more than that to fix bathroom bastard’s ugly face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	93. 11/4: Trust and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come together.

It felt like ages by the time Felix was opening up the door to Mark and Jack’s hotel room. The three YouTubers had made it back to their hotel in one piece and managed to avoid any lingering paparazzi along the way. Mark had popped several of the Ibuprofen while Felix fetched him some ice for his injuries, then proceeded to sit and wait on the bed despondently. He couldn’t even keep up a casual conversation with Felix and Marzia but they refused to let him lay down. The paramedic said he shouldn’t sleep, and they were taking that order seriously. Mark supposed he was just grateful to not be waiting for Jack on his own.

When Jack finally wandered down the short hallway leading from the door to the beds, Mark could have cried with relief. He was wearing different clothes, probably provided by the hospital, and every inch of skin visible sported some variation of bruising. His face and hair were a mess but at least all the blood had been cleaned away. Jack’s nose was heavily bandaged, with his right hand in a splint and his left lifting up to toy with the strings of Mark’s hoodie- the only original article he was still wearing. “Mark…?”

 _“Jack.”_ Mark was on his feet in an instant. His muscles protested the movement with more of a dull ache than the sharp, stinging pain from before. There was still ice on his knuckles and he’d been holding a third bag up to his mouth, but he dropped it the moment his eyes fell on Jack. Thankfully, he’d brought along his spare glasses, so the view was unhindered by any cracks. Mark swept forward with what speed he could muster and gingerly pulled his boyfriend into a loose embrace. He didn’t need to see the other bruises to know they were there; the memory of Jack laying over the toilet was still fresh and vivid in his mind’s eye but he pressed his face into Jack’s stiff hair without a care as to where it had been. _Jack was back._ Jack was alive and _okay_ and in his arms again- that’s what mattered. “I’m here, I’m here, _you’re here._ Fuck, Jack, you’re okay.”

“ _Mark…_ ” Jack sagged against Mark’s shoulder, then lifted his battered face to look him over. His left hand touched Mark’s swollen lip, and his own mouth wobbled. “You got hurt…”

Mark winced, then he reached up to grab Jack’s hand. His immediate thought was to interlock their fingers, like they always did, but between the ice and gauze it was impossible. He internally pouted and resigned himself to a simple- if tight- hold and his face softened. “He got hurt more. And I stopped him from hurting you any worse. From… from taking you away from me. From the world.” Mark couldn’t bring himself to say the word itself, it was too unthinkable. He kissed at Jack’s fingers instead and kept his free arm looped securely around Jack’s waist in a silent reminder: _I’m here. I’ve got you._ “You should sit down. How doped up are you?”

“But I promised I’d keep you safe…” Jack looked down at their hands and he sniffed. He reached up with his splinted right hand to wipe at his eyes, banging the splint into the puffy bruise beneath his eye from when his nose broke, and winced. Another tear fell. “I promised…”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Mark shushed and released Jack’s good hand to gently take his splinted one and coax the appendage away from Jack’s bruised face. “C’mon, don’t. Medic already scolded me about the gauze. Let’s get some tissues, c’mon.” He urged Jack over to join him on the edge of the bed and passed him some tissues from a box on the end table. His arm returned naturally around Jack’s waist and he took up the injured hand again in case Jack was too medicated to understand the issue. “Careful. Don’t press too hard.”

Mark took a breath to strengthen his resolve. _He_ had to be the strong one, right now. Jack needed support more than he did for once and he wasn’t going to drop the ball. “You did keep me safe, Jack. You kept me safe _all this time._ I don’t care about getting hurt if it means helping you. I don’t care about getting hurt if it puts any one of those assholes behind bars. Don’t ever regret calling my name, or screaming for help. _Don’t._ Because if you didn’t, Jack, you could be… could be….” _Fuck it._ “You could be _dead,_ Jack. If you didn’t scream for me. Don’t you dare regret having a will to live.”

“I don’t think he would’ve stuffed me in the toilet if I hadn’t screamed,” Jack said, staring at his knees. He dabbed gently at his eyes, leaning in against Mark before stiffening and pulling back. “ _Fuck_. He stuffed me in a toilet, Mark. I’m all gross. They washed my face, but… I’m all gross.”

“You don’t know that.” Mark murmured the words, but pulled back when Jack did. Of course, he remembered exactly where half of Jack’s body had been, he just hadn’t cared at the current point in time. Jack was still Jack, and he’d been waiting _hours_ to see him again. However, if Jack was upset about it, then Mark would help him deal with the problem. At the very least it would postpone the talk they’d eventually need to have.

Jack sighed, closing his eyes, then snuck a glance at Mark. “I wanna shower. Clean clothes. You.”

Mark nodded. “Okay. Well, you’ve got me here. Let’s work on the other two. Did they say you were okay to shower? We could try a bath if you’re worried about collapsing….” Mark wasn’t sure just how _bad_ Jack’s injuries were, but they’d given him some heavy medication from the looks of it.

“I can take my splint off. And they said it’s okay if my nose gets wet.” Jack sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t wanna bath. That’s just soaking in my own toilet water. From my head. I need…” He pulled some pajamas out of a drawer, then looked back at Mark. “Will you come with me?”

There was a brief thought that Mark might happen to see Jack naked and it caused a minor spark of anxiety which was immediately drowned out by concern and affection. Jack was asking him to come along. Jack didn’t want to be in the bathroom alone and Mark couldn’t blame him. He knew _exactly_ what that kind of subtle terror felt like, but he wouldn’t let Jack suffer it. He wouldn’t turn away after all the times Jack had been there when _he_ needed the company. Mark stood and placed his hand on Jack’s lower back, purposefully pressing over the tattoo. “I’ll come. Just.. might need to turn around before you get in, that’s all. C’mon. You’ll probably feel better under the hot water anyway.”

Jack smiled at Mark and nodded. “That’s okay. Just don’t want… don’t want you far away. Not right now. Not after…” He nodded again and headed for the bathroom.

Mark would have said he understood, but he didn’t need to. Jack got it all on his own. He followed Jack into the bathroom after grabbing his fallen ice pack and hung back by the door while the Irishman got himself situated. Jack turned on the shower and peeled his splint off with a grimace. It _killed_ Mark to see Jack’s hand in such bad shape. The sight alone gave a hint as to what the rest of his body looked like after being brutalized by that man in the bathroom and he could feel anger prickling around his bones but he’d already made the culprit pay. Mark couldn’t get hands on him again even if he truly wanted to.

Jack stuck both hands under the spray, then gathered up a stack of standard hotel-sized towels (meaning too small to properly wrap up in, unless you were a beanpole like Jack). Only then did he look back at Mark, fiddling with the strings on the hoodie again. “I, uh, so I’m gonna… get undressed now…”

Mark breathed in through his nose and turned around. No big deal; it was just like that night when Jack had changed his shorts after they’d both finished. So long as Mark didn’t see anything, he would be fine. “You’re good. Just let me know when you’re in the shower. I’ll be right here until you’re ready to leave the bathroom.”

There was a minute or two of rustling clothing and the soft clinking of the shower curtain before Jack spoke again. “Okay,” he said. “I’m in.”

Mark was relieved he had an excuse not to look at Jack’s naked body because he couldn’t bring himself to see how truly damaged Jack was. The thoughts alone of what could be lurking under those clothes were nearly giving him flashbacks to his own mutilated skin and he felt selfish. Mark didn’t turn fully around when Jack gave the go ahead. Instead, he leaned back against the sink to examine his iced and bandaged knuckles. He clenched his hands into slow fists and remembered how it felt to beat another man's face in. He knew he'd do it again and that knowledge frightened Mark, no matter how much the goon deserved it.

"How are you holding up?" Jack finally asked with a sigh. "Physically. How're your hands? Your face?"

"...fine. Paramedic said they're gonna bruise really bad but I didn't break anything since I knew how to punch right. They're sore, I guess. Mostly numb from the ice. My mouth’ll be fine too once the swelling goes down. Otherwise it’s just bruises. He mostly hit my stomach."

"All those self-defense videos really paid off."

"Heh, yeah, guess so...." Silently, Mark compared his punching bag to the man he'd beaten. They were different: the man was softer. That thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, Mark. _So_ proud. You have no idea." Jack pulled the curtain back enough to peer out at Mark. "If I felt better, I'd thank you a lot more enthusiastically."

Mark tried to absorb Jack's words properly. He sent him a tight smile when he peeked out, but Jack saying he was proud of Mark nearly killing a guy didn't make him feel as good as all the other things Jack said he was proud of him for. Maybe because Mark wasn't proud at all. Happy he saved Jack, yes. The rest? He squeezed at the ice pack over his knuckles and focused on the stinging ache.

"Mark?" Jack cocked his head, then beckoned with his left, unbruised hand. "C'mere?"

Well Mark hadn't been doing a very good job of hiding how he was feeling so he really shouldn't be surprised Jack realized something was up. He sighed internally but straightened. His shuffle to Jack was anxious and he kept his gaze locked on the floor or wall, stopping only a few inches short of the curtain. "I'm okay, Jack. I'm just tired." God, why did he still try to lie when he knew it wouldn't work?

Jack cupped Mark's cheek in a wet hand and kissed him gently. "Liar," he murmured, fondness in his voice. "Mark, you _saved my life_. And you did that by facing down a literal nightmare. You can't tell me that man hasn't haunted your dreams any less than he's haunted mine. I was so sure he was going to kill me and you'd find my body, and I was regretting ever screaming, but you...You didn't hesitate, Mark. You didn't _panic_. And if that's not something to be proud of..."

"I'd do anything to keep you safe." Mark's voice was deep and rough with emotions still churning away in his head, long after he'd run out of tears. He reached up to take the hand on his cheek into both of his own, clutching and squeezing at it while ignoring the pain the action caused his knuckles. His eyes were haunted again the way they used to be, where it was obvious instead of toned down. They were a mix of relief and love and guilt and discomfort. "I didn't even have to think. I just acted. And I almost killed that man, Jack, I was almost on his level because he was trying to kill you. We both know he was. If it wasn't for Felix dragging me back I don't... I don't know what would have happened. I just kept punching him...." There was defending someone and then there was overkill and Mark had been dangerously straddling that fine line.

 _"No,"_ Jack said firmly, rubbing his thumb over Mark's beard. "No, you were nowhere _near_ his level, Mark. He was trying to kill me because it was _fun_. Because he was getting off on it. He was _enjoying_ it. You were trying to kill him to protect me. And yourself. You weren't getting off on his pain...And if Felix weren't there, I know you would've stopped anyway. Because I needed help. And you're always there when I need you." Jack kissed Mark again, still gentle. "But most importantly, Mark...You're glad you _didn't_ kill him. He's upset he didn't kill me. That's the difference that matters."  
  
Mark didn't know how to tell Jack part of him had enjoyed hurting the man. That getting even such a minor vengeance had felt really, really good to a darker part of his soul. It was something he'd daydreamed about after especially frustrating moments: hunting down his kidnappers and making them experience all the horrors he suffered. That part of himself scared him and now it'd gotten to flex its muscles, literally. Maybe Mark had attacked the man to protect Jack, but he kept attacking him because it felt validating and that was wrong. He wasn't so certain Jack's faith was in the right place because that same part of him wished he'd gotten to kill the man; if only so he couldn't come back to haunt them. The thought of revenge being sought terrified Mark even more and was the core reason he didn't believe in vengeance. It only bred more until a vicious cycle was formed, and he'd started this one.  
  
Jack sighed and kissed Mark again. "Unless you want to join me in here so I can hold you without worrying about getting you all wet, I should probably finish up. Because I need to hold you."

Mark tried to focus on Jack's kisses. He tried absorbing all the love in each press of lips but his heart remained heavy and he pulled away. "I don't... think that's a good idea, right now. I'll go wait on the bed for you." Not only could Mark be triggered, but Jack might panic as well. He didn't think about it now, but if he'd been... he shouldn't be naked around him. "If you need anything, any help at all, just shout. I'm serious." Mark quipped before retreating from the bathroom.

"Okay," Jack said. "Leave the door open."

Once out of Jack’s line of sight, Mark allowed his expression and body language to crumble. Everything had been going so well. Now there were new scars and rifts between them and Mark had blood on his hands, and Jack was... He sat and buried his face in his palms. What a mess.  
  
After a few minutes, Jack came out dressed in his pajamas and at the very least looking a lot cleaner. He dumped the hospital clothes by his suitcase before climbing onto the bed beside Mark and slipping his arm around Mark’s waist. He didn't say anything at first, just set his cheek against Mark's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Mark didn't immediately say anything either. He took in the feel of Jack leaning against him: warm and solid and alive. He could hear Jack’s little breaths whistling against his shirt; smell the fresh scent of shampoo and soap and what was uniquely Jack. Unable to help himself, he turned his head to seek comfort in the wet green locks. One of his arms moved to wrap around Jack as well and squeezed the smaller man close; protectively, needily. Mark's eyes weren't closed, but they were unfocused when he spoke. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner, Jack. I knew you were taking too long but I didn't want to cling. I didn't want to be paranoid. I wanted to trust everything would be okay this time and... and it wasn't. It wasn't, and I'm sorry. That you had to go through that too...."

Jack turned to press a kiss to the side of Mark's neck.  "I have such a huge new respect for you and everything you survived, Mark. Three months of that, of worse?" Jack gave a shudder, then kissed Mark's neck again. "But it's okay. It's going to _be_ okay. Once all the bruises fade, it'll be like nothing ever happened, except that the world is a safer place."

"We'll probably have to go to his trial. To testify against him." Mark hadn't been able to do that with his abusers because they were still at large. He hoped Jack wouldn't be grilled into breaking down on the stand. Then again, Mark would have been in the same boat as their attacker, had Felix and Marzia not been there to tell the police what happened. He beat another man. That was still assault, even under self-defense, but it didn't matter.

"Are you going to be able to do that? If they bring up the other time? Am _I_ , if I'm back in Ireland? Or does that just give me another excuse to fly out here?" Jack queried.

"I don't know, I don't know, but if we don't..." If neither of them testified the guy would still probably go to jail. They had Felix and Marzia as witnesses too and somehow Mark knew they'd bring up his kidnapping if he took the stand. Maybe they could get out of it. Much as he'd love Jack to have another excuse to visit, there was no getting out of this: what that man had done to Jack. If only Mark heard sooner. If only he'd checked. Even after the trial, after Jack healed, that wouldn't be all. Mark knew Jack was just trying to make him feel better by playing it cool again and he shook his head, heart aching. "Jack. You don't have to act like everything is okay. You know that, right? I'm not... I'm not gonna lose faith in you or see you as weaker because of what happened. I'm not. That would be hypocritical of me. It doesn't get better like a bruise or broken bone and I'm so, so sorry you have to deal with this now." His voice cracked and he once again buried his face in Jack's hair.

Jack pulled away from Mark so he could catch Mark's face between his hands (the right one splinted again) and kiss him, soft at first, but then firmer, more insistent. "Mark, I'm going to be _fine_. I mean, yeah, maybe I'll think twice about using a public bathroom on my own, but that's not impossible to live with. Women go to the bathroom in groups all the time. There's nothing else...The doctor even said my nose probably won't even have a bump if I'm careful..." Jack drew back again to look at Mark's face, frowning slightly. "...that's not what you're talking about?"

Mark kissed Jack and it was so deep the apology could still be felt on his lips. Both his arms had found their way around Jack's waist, ever protective. His eyes were stinging again. Did he even have anymore tears? Or were they just going to burn with the need to cry? His voice was still choked up as he coaxed Jack to open up about what he'd experienced in that stall. "Jack. It's okay. You don't... you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I understand. I just want you to know that I'm here. And I'll support you the same way you did for me. We can... we can go back to square one, if we have to. Or nothing at all. Whatever you're comfortable with." All that progress they'd made with Mark and now it was Jack's trauma they'd be tiptoeing around. The world didn't want to give them a break.

"Mark?" Jack shifted, moving to straddle Mark's legs. "Mark, okay, it's been a pretty wild day and I know I'm still a little doped up from the drugs they gave me, so can you...can you be blunt with me just to make sure I'm not misunderstanding? You're not talking about my nose...so what _are_ you talking about?"

“Jack-” Mark was startled. He couldn’t believe Jack could do that after what had happened, even with the clothes, even being in control. Wasn’t the vulnerability making him anxious? He wasn’t pushing aside his discomfort for Mark, was he? Oh god, Mark would have pushed Jack off if he wasn’t sitting on the edge of the bed. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him any further, but he leaned back and resisted the now familiar urge to rest his hands on narrow hips. His face had paled with slight fear and concern- not for himself, but for _Jack._ “Jack. You don’t… you don’t have to…. L-look, I get it, you don’t want to bring it up. You don’t want to think about it, I’m sorry, I just… I’m so sorry he violated you like that, that he took it from you. That it had to be your first experience, l-like me, it’s wrong. It’s so _fucking_ wrong and I never, ever wanted you to have the ability to understand but now you do and it’s all that asshole’s fault, if I’d just caved to my nerves and been _fucking_ ** _faster-_** ” He hiccuped, then, and a dry sob petered out as he stared at Jack with pure pity and empathy.

Jack’s eyes went wide and he immediately was shaking his head, reaching for Mark’s shoulders. “Oh god, Mark, no, _no_ , he didn’t...he _didn’t_!”

Jack closed his eyes and shivered. “He tried,” Jack explained. “He _tried_ , Mark, and he, he sorta...groped me? Sorta? I mean, I was at the urinal and he came up behind me but my hand was already there, so…” Jack waved his splinted hand, peeking at Mark. “Yeeeeah. And he was going to, in the stall, but...he told me to be quiet, or else everyone would see and know, and I just…”

Mark felt his anger return with a vengeance as Jack described what had occurred in the bathroom. He’d been able to make some assumptions based on the things he’d witnessed and snatched pieces of Jack’s broken mutterings on the restroom floor, but this was the first time he was provided with so much information. Immediately, he wanted to hunt down the man’s cell and beat him again. His blood was boiling hot beneath his skin and turning his face a little red. Mark wanted to make sure Jack’s attacker could never lay another _finger_ on him-

Jack’s expression was sober as he reached up to trail his fingers over Mark’s cheek. “Everyone saw you,” he whispered. “And you...you survived. Your _community_ survived, continued to embrace you, and I just...I had faith that mine would do the same. So I screamed, and he decided shutting me up was more important than getting it in. And then when he had me pretty pinned on the ground, I think he wanted to try again, but you came charging in yourself and...yeah. I’m a bit groped and a bit skeeved out, but I’m _fine_ , Mark, I swear I am. I swear he didn’t...he _didn’t_.”

The action triggered a deep inhale. ‘ _Easy, easy. Calm down.’_ Mark focused on his breathing for a few seconds as he watched Jack. It was easier to slip out of the vengeful mindset when his boyfriend was murmuring sweet words and reassurances. He could clear away all the aggressive, negative thoughts and zero in on Jack’s point; the reason he was bothering to explain it all. Mark stared at him. “You… he didn’t? _He didn’t?_ ** _Really??_** But I thought- wh-when I got in there, and I saw you, you had… he was….” Mark babbled broken bits of thoughts and sentences for several agonizing seconds while his brain tried to comprehend the truth.

Jack hadn’t been raped. Jack had been sexually violated and abused, but not _raped._ He never got it in. Mark blinked wildly and exhaled something dangerously close to a laugh. “H-he… he never got it in. He _never got it in??_ I- I can’t… that’s… that, you’re… **_Jack._** ” His face was lighting up with relief, with joy, with love and affection as he finally lifted his hands from the bed to cup at Jack’s cheeks. He kept his touch gentle but leaned in to kiss the other with a sort of giddy fervor. Jack had been hurt, Jack had been groped, but he _wasn’t raped._ The relief was comparable to waking up and _not_ being in that damn room; to finding Jack alive after he was dragged off the man who nearly killed him. Mark was holding Jack in his hands, his arms, and kissing his boyfriend stupid(er) as tears threatened to fall again. He pecked at Jack’s lips a few more times, quick and breathless, before brushing their cheeks together. He nosed at Jack’s ear, his sideburn; trailing down to his jaw to press another kiss. His lip was numb from the ice anyway and Mark wanted to smother Jack in kisses. Jack, who was _okay_ and _whole_ and **_there._** “I love you.”

“You stopped him both times,” Jack said, returning many of Mark’s kisses and wrapping his arms around Mark’s shoulders. “First in my head, then in reality, and _thank you_ , Mark, thank you, you saved my life and...heh, and my ass. Literally.”

Mark folded his arms around Jack’s waist and tugged him closer. It wasn’t in a sexually aggressive way. He just wanted to physically feel Jack, to reassure his addled brain his boyfriend was truly okay. He snorted gently against the little patch of fair skin beneath Jack’s ear. “Really, Jack? That’s how low you’re gonna go?” He shook his head, brushing Jack’s cheek with his hair. He still hadn’t dyed it, yet, but he was planning to try soon. For now the locks remained naturally black as they were met with Jack’s lips and his fingers skirted up and down on either side of Jack’s spine. Mark trailed his lips along Jack’s jaw and slipped down the slender neck to flit across the pulse point, the jugular, the bobbing Adam’s apple. Occasionally, he would give a firmer press of his lips, squeezing intermittently at Jack’s back with his fingertips.

“You know you love my ass,” Jack said, tipping his head back as Mark kissed down his neck. He gave a little wiggle of said ass on Mark’s lap, squeezing his arms tight as Mark pulled him even closer. He dared to shift a little closer on Mark’s legs. “I love _you_ , Mark, so much, so much, thank you. I love you.” He kissed Mark’s floofy hair as Mark’s mouth continued to wander, his hands spreading over Mark’s broad back.

“I love you more than anyone.” Romantically, and sexually, of course. Jack knew what Mark meant when he made that claim. No one could replace his family (or Chica, who was also family), but outside that bubble Jack sat safely at the top. Mark nosed back up the other side of Jack’s jaw to kiss at his ear and lingered there so his voice could be heard in its quiet murmur. “I love you, love you so much I’d do almost anything for you, anything to keep you safe. I don’t want you to _ever_ go through anything I did. **_Anything._** ” Mark kissed at his cheek. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jack whined Mark’s name softly, turning his head to catch Mark’s lips again. “Don’t ever think I feel any less about you,” he insisted. “Don’t ever think I have been anything but thrilled to have you in my life in any capacity. I love you, Mark Fischbach.”

“Never claimed otherwise.” Mark’s fingers trailed a bit further South, but he stopped short of groping his boyfriend. It just felt out of place in the tender moment they were sharing with each other. Maybe in a little bit.

He kissed Jack in retaliation instead, deeply and passionately. _“Never.”_ Another kiss. “I never would. I know you love me, Jack. I know I make you happy. And I’m so _glad_ that I can. That you let me into your life like this.” Their lips met, again, and this time Mark parted his just enough to brush the tip of his tongue across the crease of Jack’s mouth. He applied some suction, holding his boyfriend captive, then let go with a soft “pop”. Okay, that one stung a little. Oh well. His lids were drooping heavily and there was barely an inch separating their faces at that point. “I love you, Sean McLoughlin. And don’t you ever forget it.” He kissed him again, and held him close as the outside world melted away around them.

When he was done burying Jack in all of his precious kisses, Mark hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Jack’s pants instead. The Irishman was safely boxed away in his arms and whining his name practically into his ear and Mark shivered. “That’s cheating,” he sing-songed. Jack knew how much Mark loved his sounds.

Jack sucked in his breath. “It’s not _cheating_ if you’re the one making me make the noises…”

“I’m not _making_ you do anything, you’re just sensitive.” Mark countered in a soft tone. His fingers had come to rest at the tattoo on Jack’s back and they lightly traced the letters through the material of Jack’s shirt. He swore he felt his own tingle in response and his heartbeat stuttered in his chest.

“Mark…?”

Mark kept kissing at Jack’s jaw and neck when the other stopped pulling him into lip action; ate him up with his mouth and tiny prods of his tongue. At the back of his mind, he felt the slow glide of fingers down his back. He knew where they were headed and went a bit rigid to prepare himself for the incoming sensation. That tingle was about to become much more real. “Mm?” He had a mouthful of Jack’s skin and so words escaped him, but he gave a muffled hum to show he was listening.

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Mark, I’ve got marks.”

“Pff. Was that supposed to be a…” Mark shuddered; there it was. The familiar letters being traced into his back.

“They’re not yours…”

Mark paused as Jack completed his thought and swallowed hard. “...oh.” Jack was antsy because of the bruises; bruises someone other than Mark left on him. At first, Mark had thought it was a little weird- and concerning. How Jack would ask him to mark him, bite him, leave bruises wherever his mouth or hands could reach. After the first time they learned to be careful and precise with the placement. Cameras revealed all, but with each session Mark got used to spotting his boyfriend with all manner of love bites and bruises. He even came to find it a little addicting himself- mostly due to Jack’s reactions.

“Can you.... Harder?” Jack’s tone was a desperate whimper.

Jack, who was baring his neck, pressing his skin harder into Mark’s open mouth and squirming in his lap. It all went directly South and Mark made a sound of his own at the back of his throat. He’d been hesitant to bite because of Jack’s injuries, but it was impossible to hold back after hearing his boyfriend beg so prettily. After being told it was okay, because Jack wanted Mark to overwrite all those bruises with his own and it struck something carnal and possessive deep inside of him. Rather than supply a verbal answer, Mark found one of the lighter bruises on Jack’s neck and nipped at the skin there. He pulled the patch between his lips to suck on it experimentally, ears pricked for the first hint Jack was in pain or uncomfortable. His hands had shifted to grip hard at Jack’s hips in a way he _knew_ would leave imprints and Jack groaned, holding tight to Mark as he leaned into the kiss.

Well that was a positive sound. Mark immediately felt encouraged when Jack arched between his hands. He squeezed hard at his boyfriend’s hips, traveling up and down along his ribs with rough swipes of his palms. It would be better if Jack was shirtless, but Mark was too caught up to fix the issue. He let the bit of skin snap back and scraped his teeth across to a larger bruise. This time he didn’t hesitate. He sunk his teeth straight in and laved at the skin between his incisors with his tongue, but held off on the suction. Teeth should be good enough, right? Using his lips to suck was bound to reopen the split there if he wasn’t careful.

 _That_ bite earned Mark a gasp and a sharp jerk of Jack’s hips. He gripped at Mark’s back and pulled himself tight against him. “Yessss, just like that…”

Jack’s coaxing summoned up a deep-chested groan that thrummed along the flesh in Mark’s mouth. His hands were still moving, coasting down past hips to thighs and squeezing again. They kneaded bruised and unbruised skin alike with fingers numbed by ice. He should probably get rid of the bags before they melted any further but as with Jack’s shirt, he couldn’t be bothered at the moment because they kept the sting in his knuckles at bay. He relinquished his mouth’s hold. “Jack….” Mark panted the name against wet skin and gave the light indents another lick. He could feel himself swelling in his pants and he pressed his thighs together with a hitched breath. Then he was swooping in again, reclaiming another spot with teeth and tongue and just the barest hint of a needy growl. _“Jack….”_

Jack rolled his hips against Mark, his head fallen to the side as he whined with every scrape of Mark’s teeth, moaning whenever Mark sucked on his skin. “Fuck, Mark, more, I want more…”

“ _Ahhh-_ fuck!” Mark’s mouth popped off Jack’s neck so he could suck in a sharp inhale. The abrupt tug made more than their chests rub together and the friction felt _amazing_ on his bulge. He minutely rocked his hips up to seek it out again. Like this, it was all too easy to bounce Jack in his lap and manhandle the smaller YouTuber. Not quite as fun as making out against a wall, but pretty close. He grew more bold with his upwards thrusting as Jack consistently pushed down against him and the only thing keeping Jack steady in Mark’s lap was the grips of their hands.

The noises were driving him _crazy,_ though. Every sound coaxed Mark into taking another bite or risking sucking at a spot until his lip really began to sting. He wanted more too: more whimpers and pleads, more of Jack grinding down on his crotch, more fingers digging into his back and shoulders and biceps. He crushed the tops of Jack’s thighs in his hands, bruised knuckles popping almost obscenely, then slid inwards to repeat the action on more sensitive muscle. Mark gripped and pushed until Jack had no choice but to rock back onto his ass as he was spread open by Mark’s hands. He knew the other would want his hands even lower, even closer and he silently apologized.

Jack quivered beneath Mark’s strong fingers and one of Mark’s hands slid under to cup at Jack’s thigh. He lifted his leg up just enough that Jack could feel the stretch and burn; so he could fully take in how hard Mark’s fingers were pressing against his skin. His free arm had looped around a slender back to avoid Jack flopping right over onto the floor. Unable to remove Jack’s shirt in this position but finding it exceedingly enjoyable for some reason (Jack was all limbs and lean muscle and was so fun to mold, really), Mark threw logic to the wind. He bit his way over to an angular shoulder and then down the attached arm, straight through the thin cotton shirt with all his teeth and jaw strength. His saliva left little spots on the material to mark his progress while the sore muscles in his abdomen ached. ‘ _Suck it up, suck it up, we’re gonna do this you little fucks or my name isn’t fucking Mark Fischbach.’_

Jack keened and he fell against Mark’s arm, ever trusting. He wailed as Mark bit into his shoulder, wiggling against Mark’s hold while he cried his need for _more_. “Fuck, Mark, _fuck_ , please, please…” Jack leaned back more against Mark’s arm, trying to spread his legs even further than Mark was pushing him. He turned his head to press his cheek to Mark’s hair, panting into the black strands as Mark _bit_ him. “Love you…”

Mark _growled_ into Jack’s arm while he struggled with maintaining some semblance of balance- among their akimbo limbs _and_ with his own sexual arousal. Mark was _painfully_ hard by that point (and in some pain, but he could handle it). He knew Jack wasn’t faring much better. If things were different, if Mark wasn’t still harboring lingering vestiges of his trauma, he could have easily acted on their combined urges. He could have pinned Jack into the bed and taken their intimacy to the next level; could have given his boyfriend everything he wanted _and more._ Everything _Mark_ wanted, but just the thought of pulling Jack’s pants off and coming face-to-face with another man’s dick again had his heart palpitating in his chest with fear. He couldn’t do it; _he couldn’t._ The very incident that had most likely led to them being together was preventing them from fully embracing this aspect of their relationship and it drove Mark to his wit’s end.

He growled again, biting down hard as he could into Jack’s other shoulder to stifle the sound. He didn’t really like hearing it. The sound was more involuntary than anything, an instinct, but it made him feel like a dog. Huffing hot and wet around the combination of shirt and skin in his mouth, Mark decided a change of position was in order. If he couldn’t give Jack _exactly_ what he craved, then he could at least give him a damn good time. Mark released his mouth’s hold and leaned back enough that he could adjust his grip on the lanky man in his lap. “Shhh, Sean, shhh. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you, all right?? I love you. I love you, Sean, just hang on….”

Mark tightened his grip, twisted in his seat and dropped Jack onto his back across the bedspread. A painful twinge thrummed down his ribs and caused his jaw to clench. ‘ _Fuck. Bad idea, bad idea.’_ Belatedly, he was clambering up onto the sheets to slide between his lover’s legs. He wasted no time in spreading them apart at the knees again as he hovered over his boyfriend with dark eyes and flushed cheeks. His own knees were tucked beneath either of Jack’s spread thighs, propping Jack’s lower half up a few inches. A distraction, Mark needed a distraction so he squeezed at Jack’s calves. “I can’t have sex with you, Sean, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I can still get you off- I can get _us_ off. Just lay back and let me.....”

Jack grabbed his own thighs; tugging them apart. “Jesus, Mark, I’ve never _cared_ about that, just please, _please_ …!”

Mark had to take a moment to just _watch_ Jack. As if his boyfriend wasn’t already an appealing sight with his normally pale skin a bright red and blue eyes clouded with lust, seeing Jack holding himself open for him had to come close to killing Mark. Jack was trembling and weakly thrusting against nothing while he begged wildly for Mark to do something- _anything._ Jack just wanted Mark, Mark, _Mark_ and nothing else, however he could get him. It was so raw and powerful Mark lost his breath for a few moments. He’d never experienced anything like it. Raving fans had _nothing_ on the man laid out before him.

He never could have comprehended something this deep or thought it would _ever_ be directed at himself but there it was, showing on Jack’s face and crying out in his tone as he begged for Mark’s touch. Mark was more rock hard in his pants than he’d ever been in his entire life. _“Sean.”_ He said the name in a low, gravelly tone that rumbled from his chest with nothing but pure desire and arousal. He pressed his hands to the ones holding Jack’s legs open; pushed them further, held them to their limits while he leaned in. His mouth connected with Jack’s in a kiss that was too little breath and too much saliva but neither of them really seemed to care. Mark took a good half minute just devouring his boyfriend’s lips and tongue while delving into his mouth as if he’d never been there before.

He only broke off because they both needed air, yet he didn’t stop there. Even while panting for breath, Mark shifted downwards. He left Jack to control his own legs so he could obtain full use of his hands again. One busily rucked up the Irishman’s shirt until it was bunched around his armpits. The other pressed an elbow into the mattress for support, then buried chilled fingers into green hair. Mark combed steadily through the strands several times before taking a moderate grip on them, gently but firmly turning Jack’s head to the side so he could nip smaller bites all the way down his neck. His thumb brushed against a nipple, and then his tongue was finding the other, pressing to the hardened flesh for only a second before Mark abruptly bit down. He tugged with teeth and fingers as he settled resolutely between his boyfriend’s legs. Their aching crotches were so close he could feel the heat between them, but they weren’t touching just yet.

Jack whined, jerking under Mark’s mouth and fingers, crying out his pleasure. His dick brushed against Mark’s, but only for a moment, just a moment, and Jack gasped Mark’s name, and _more_ , and _please_. His own fingers dug into the trembling muscles of his thighs, continuing to hold himself open even as hazy blue eyes squeezed shut. “ _Maaaark!_ ”

 _“Sean.”_ It was more of a slightly pained groan that time; muffled by the fact Mark still had his mouth full of said man. He was sucking a fresh bruise into Jack’s pectoral while his teeth nipped and tugged at the nipple there. His fingers had tweaked the other a few times before traveling further South, dragging nails and hard fingertips over ribs and abdominal muscles. He slid the heel of his palm back up to draw out goosebumps in his wake. Then Mark’s mouth left the newest hickey with an audibly wet “pop” and his tongue darted over his bottom lip. No signs of blood, good. Mark’s breath skirted over the damp skin to create a chill. “Sean….”

Mark moaned again because Jack was squirming and rolling his hips beneath him, occasionally brushing their dicks together through the layers of clothing. The brief bursts of friction made fireworks dance in his vision and set him to shaking from just how turned on Jack was making him. Mark thrust back a few times; seeking out more pressure, more heat, more contact but it wasn’t enough. The position was better but the aid of gravity had been lost and Mark needed to try a different tactic, but he took a minute just to scatter quick bites and nibbles across the smooth planes of Jack’s abdomen. He longed to suck another bruise or two into the skin and reclaim any already discolored territory but even a kiss was setting his lip to smarting at that point.

Mark would just have to compensate. He reached back to grip at one of Jack’s thighs again. He slid their fingers together- tightly grasping at Jack’s digits- and pushed. He pressed forward until Jack’s leg bent as far as his hip joint would allow and held the appendage there while he coaxed Jack’s other hand away from its hold. He eased that leg down so he could pop one of his own over it. The maneuvering was a bit excessive for the moment but worth it in the end. Like this, Mark was able to slot up against Jack perfectly. He pressed down against Jack’s erection with his own as he leaned forward. One experimental thrust of his hips set him to groaning low and deep against Jack’s neck. The pleasure convinced him to keep rolling; keep grinding into Jack over and over while he detangled fingers from green hair.

He was absolutely lost by now, drawing terrifyingly close to his peak and determined to drag Jack right over the edge with him. Though on top, it still felt like he was buried in the man. Surrounded by his sound and taste and smell and _feel._ Bruised, ever-crooked fingers dug sloppily into the collar of Jack’s shirt and tugged it aside to reveal the smooth, barely marred skin of his shoulder. “Sean, Sean, fuck… f-fuck, I love you, I love you so much Sean _hhhh_ please, Sean, hold me please, fuck, touch me _mmnnngh…._ ” He whined at the very bottom of his throat only to bite down on Jack’s exposed shoulder a few seconds later. Mark swore he almost drew blood with that one, but he was too preoccupied with keeping their lower halves securely moving together to feel especially concerned.

Jack latched onto Mark’s waist, shoving his hands under Mark’s shirt and dragging nails up his back. “Mark, fuck, _Mark_ , I need, I’m gonna, _Mark!_ ” Jack shuddered and groaned as they rocked together, finding a rhythm in their hips that was uniquely _theirs_. He dug his fingers into Mark’s shoulder blades, crying out as he seized up beneath him and came.

Mark’s keen was lost in the meat of Jack’s shoulder but the arch of his back told all. Jack’s fingernails sent shivers racing up his spine only to trickle back down a breath later; fueling his rapid spiral towards orgasm. He wanted Jack to do it again, wanted those hands to cling and clutch and drag and scratch but they were hooked over his shoulders instead. They pressed down until Mark had to brace himself with his elbow to avoid collapsing. He could feel Jack seizing and convulsing through the waves of his strong orgasm beneath him. Quickly, Mark removed his teeth from Jack’s shoulder to avoid _actually_ drawing blood amidst all the jerky movements. He could still taste Jack on his tongue as he ran the small appendage over his teeth. “Sean. Sean, I know this is gonna sound crazy and maybe hard ‘cause you’re all boneless and stupid right now but I need to know you can hear me, okay? Do you understand what I’m saying right now? Can you nod for me, Sean?” Though breathless, Mark’s voice and tone were even as he murmured to his spent lover. He was still raging in his own pants, flushed from head to toe and ever so slowly letting Jack’s leg drop back to the bed.

Jack was panting beneath Mark, kneading his grip on Mark’s shoulders as he shivered and melted into the mattress. He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose before nodding for Mark. “ _Nnrgh…_ ” Jack huffed a laugh and dragged his nails down Mark’s back. It took everything Mark had not to let loose himself, but he was holding back for a reason. Jack opened his eyes and smiled up at Mark. “Wha...what do you need?” His fingers caught on the raised scar of the S and Jack shivered.

Mark bit at his lip, trying to focus on how Jack’s smile made his heart swell over, well, a different swelling further down. He shivered in near perfect sync with Jack and his hips twitched forward. A needy sound was caught up in his throat and he had to take a few seconds to rein his control back in. He utilized skills he’d gotten (fortunately or not) while in the room to postpone his impending climax. Mark was still straddling one of Jack’s legs. His crotch was hot and throbbing against Jack’s thigh but he refused to budge; denied himself the friction his dick so desperately wanted because this was _important._ This was a chance.

“S-Sean. I… I need… I _want_ you to touch me.” Mark panted through slightly gritted teeth. Sweat that had long been beading on his brow proceeded to trickle down his face. His fingers were twitching ceaselessly against the blanket and he swallowed down a whimper. _“Here.”_ Only then did he shift down, just a little, just enough to press his erection against the solid girth of Jack’s thigh and he couldn’t hide the whimper that time. Mark stared down at Jack, eyes swimming. “I want you. I need you. I _need_ you to do this, Sean, _please._ We need to try. I _w-want_ to try.” Jack was probably at the most vulnerable he could be; spent and not sporting another erection any time soon, banged up and bruised, having been completely at not only Mark’s mercy but another man’s that day. He was at his least threatening and Mark had never wanted him more. If there was a prime time for them to take a leap of faith, it was now.

Jack’s eyes widened, his already shaky breath catching again in his throat. He licked his lips, trailing his hands down to Mark’s hips. He squeezed gently, watching Mark’s face. “Over?” he asked. “O-or...under?”

 _“Sean.”_ Mark let loose another whine; higher pitched than his usual voice and desperate. He would forever appreciate all of Jack’s caution but in that moment it was slowly killing him. The pressure built up in his lower stomach was almost unbearable, but he needed to wait; needed to associate Jack’s touch with the amazing sensation of orgasming, of cumming because _he wanted to,_ ** _on his terms._** Mark wanted Jack to touch him and he would cum when he wanted to and not a moment sooner. The determination peeked through a plethora of arousal and other emotions on his face as he stared Jack down beneath the cover of his fringe; over the rims of low-resting glasses. It was one of those looks that could shake a person to their very core. “ _Sean._ I need you to touch me. **_Now._** _Please._ Touch me there, inside, just one touch that’s all I need, godfuck, _please Sean I need you._ I love you. L-let me show you, how much I love you.” His voice cracked at the end from the strain but he held firm with lips pressed tightly together and brows furrowed.

“Mark…” Jack lifted his right hand to reach for Mark, but then seemed to think better of it. He put it back on Mark’s hip and moved his left hand instead, trailing his fingers along the waistband of Mark’s pants to the front.

The shiver came, again, at the almost ticklish sensation of Jack tracing along the top of Mark’s pants. The muscles there tensed on reflex but Mark didn’t flinch back or pull away. He dug his palms and knees into the mattress like a stubborn horse digging in his hooves. “Love you… more than anything, more than _anyone…_ Sean….” he whispered. He was still as breathless as before. Between arousal and anticipation Mark’s chest was too tight for him to properly refill his lungs. Tension coiled up over his ribs, across his shoulders and down his arms as Jack delved into deeper territory. Mark had already been wound up, but somehow Jack found a way to tighten the spring even further and his body was going to loathe him come morning.

“I love you,” Jack whispered as he stared into Mark’s eyes. “Mark, _fuck_ , I love you so much…”

There was a hand in Mark’s pants, and then there was a hand in his underwear. Being dressed helped- it helped _immensely._ Clothing made it harder for Mark to disassociate; to lose track of where he was and who was touching him. He forced his eyes to stay open anyway, just in case, watching Jack’s face the entire time as that hand closed gently around his erection. It was the first time a hand besides his own had touched his dick in half a year and for some stupid, fuckall reason it felt _amazing._ Mark had no idea if it was the prolonged absence of another’s touch or just the fact it was Jack’s but he was immediately overwhelmed. Mark was practically cumming in his pants by the time Jack actually _moved_ his hand and after that hint of friction it was all over.

He toppled headfirst into his orgasm and fell forward onto Jack in turn; burying his face somewhere among pectoral muscles and sharp collar bones. His hands clutched at the blankets as he shuddered and twitched atop Jack. Mark’s dick jumped and throbbed in Jack’s hand as it let loose in several quick spurts. He squeezed Jack’s thigh between his own while he pressed forward into calloused fingers, sinking first a strangled cry and then a handful of slower, softening moans into his lover’s chest. Mark clung to Jack with his elbows and shoulders and body. ‘ _Don’t push me off, don’t push me away, don’t make fun of me for cumming like this please, please, just hold me and tell me you love me.’_ They never held him after he cummed; after they got what they wanted. They never loved him, but Jack did. Jack _would._ Mark just needed to experience it.

Jack wrapped his right arm around Mark’s back and held him, rubbing gently down his spine. “Oh god, Mark, so good, you’re so amazing, so fucking _incredible_ , I love you so much…” He craned his neck so he could kiss just at the top of Mark’s head, more in his hair than on his scalp, keeping his left hand tucked into Mark’s pants as Mark shuddered out his orgasm. “I’ve got you, Mark, I’ve got you, you’re here with me, you’re safe, you’re loved, I love you, so, _so_ much. So much.”

The hold, the kiss, the whispered words of encouragement and reassurance and praise and love; Mark had never received any of that after getting off on another man’s hand. His orgasms in the room had always been forced and painful and bitter, a sticky mess growing cold and cruel words left for him in the solitude which was sure to follow. This was nothing like that at all. Mark had never felt so warm and so _loved_ when coming down from his high, never came back to an arm cradling him and lips pressed affectionately to his hair. Mark groaned again from the sheer tenderness of it all. The jittery tension eked out of his muscles with every declaration and he relaxed on top of Jack. The hand in his pants was just a background detail. “I love you…. I love you, Sean, thank you…. Thank you so much….” His voice was a tired drawl, thick and sleepy after the day’s events and their fast-paced session.

“I love you, Mark.” Jack eased his hand out from Mark’s pants. He curled both his arms around Mark’s back, tugging gently to get him a little higher against his chest. “Come here, come here, let me kiss you better…” He pressed kisses against Mark’s hair and forehead, cuddling Mark against him. “I love you. Always.” Mark was already drifting. “ _Always_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	94. 11/5: Bathtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make some bubbly progress.

They didn’t go to the convention the next day. After an early lunch, the four YouTubers went to see a movie together. In the dark, they weren’t recognized, and Jack even rested his head on Mark’s shoulder in the privacy of the back row of the theater. They found a candy store on their way back, and Jack insisted he _had_ to go in.

After dinner, the two couples split up again, and Jack dropped his bags of American treats by his suitcase, grimacing as he sank onto the bed. “I _ache_ ,” he groaned, leaning forward to rub at his legs. “Nngh, this fucking _sucks_ …”

Mark didn’t bother with sitting. He collapsed face-first onto the bed beside Jack with a muffled grunt and let his arms splay out to the sides while half his legs hung haphazardly over the edge of the bed. He echoed Jack’s groan. “It feels like all my abs and ribs got together in unholy matrimony to cause me absolute _misery._ They’re protesting, Jack. Protesting how I loved you last night; the homophobes. Sorry I couldn’t help you with the candy bags.” Mark’s knuckles had been giving him such a hassle all day he was lucky if he could flex them enough to open a door. The only consolation he had was that his lip swelling had died down overnight, allowing him to kiss Jack all he wanted.

“The day I can’t carry my own candy is the day I don’t deserve any,” Jack assured Mark. He reached over to push Mark’s shirt up, though, tracing the SM on his back.

“That sounds like something you'd get off a fortune cookie,” Mark teased. He turned his head to press the cheek he didn't have a bruise forming on against the covers so he could look at Jack. He’d known where Jack was reaching before he even felt his shirt being inched up and as always, the fingers on his scar were a comfort. He sighed and let his eyes slip closed.

Jack took a breath. “Mark?”

Mark had been contemplating a nap when Jack called his name. He roused himself a bit, but kept his eyes closed as he hummed in curious acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“What if we took a hot bath to soak our aches?” Jack traced the letters again. “Together. The tub is big enough.” This was one of the nicest hotels in the city, and the bathroom reflected the luxury. “Or separately. It’d just be more relaxing if you were there too.”

The offer itself was what finally had Mark dragging himself up. The stretch in his abdominal muscles made him grunt but he managed to work his elbows up under him. From that angle, Jack could still touch his back while Mark got a better eyeful of his boyfriend. “You wanna bathe together? I… a bath does sound fucking awesome right about now. And I would rather take one _with_ you than just be stuck soaking alone, but… Jack. You know I still haven't… your….” Mark gestured with his hand a little and bit at his lip. Instantly, he hissed and flinched from his own habitual idiocy. “Ow, _fuck!_ Fuck it, fuck it, I mean your dick. Your dick, Jack, I haven't….” He released a shuddering sigh. “...I really want to try, but water is super transparent, Jack. I don't know if I could…”

Jack leaned down to kiss Mark's sore lip gently. “Perks of such a nice hotel? They have tiny bubble bath bottles. I'm gonna do it anyway.” He kissed Mark again. “If you want to join me, I'll close my eyes while you get in. No dicks have to be seen.”

“Bubbles…?” Mark had never considered that as he hadn't taken a serious bubble bath in _years._ Showers in general tended to be more his speed, however his body was aching for a good soak. His _heart_ was aching for Jack; just as it always did. Mark had the option to indulge in both, together, at the same time. Jack had given him a cover _and_ an out. He didn't have to do it, but damn if he didn't want to. Mark carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position. “...we go slow. And we're _really_ careful. With the touching part, I.. I might be able to get over it, once we’re settled in. But you have to let me lead the pace of things. It'll be the only control I have. And.. and we have stuff ready in case I get anxious and need to pull out. Okay?” Mark _wanted_ to see Jack’s body, wanted to _feel_ it. The only hitch in everything was their junk. It could be really infuriating at times but they were both still riding high on pain medicine and their victory over even just one aspect of the Ship Sinker. Mark wanted to try.

“I'll sit in front of you,” Jack decided. “So you can put me where you need me. And we'll have lots of towels, and if you need to stop, I'll close my eyes.” Jack kissed Mark one more time and climbed off the bed, grinning as he gathered clean pyjamas. “I'll call you when it's ready!”

Mark sighed and shook his head in pure affection and amusement at Jack’s excited enthusiasm. He had no idea where Jack got all of his energy but he was a little jealous. Maybe the key _was_ sweets. Or was it speed? He should keep that joke in mind for Jack later. Able to hear the water running, Mark figured he could slip out of his shirt, shoes and socks with no issue. He set them aside and looked over the injuries he'd obtained the day before. He'd been right about it mostly just being bruises. Mark’s torso wasn't very pretty, but it was _nothing_ compared to the aftermath of his kidnapping, so Jack shouldn't take seeing them too badly.

“You can come in!”

Mark could smell the coconut all the way from the bed by the time Jack called. He snorted softly and made his way to the bathroom. “What'd you do, dump the whole bottle in? It smells like we got transported to the tropics or something-” Ironically, Mark wasn't met with palm trees but instead a Santa Jack.

Jack leaned his arms on the edge of the tub. “Ho ho ho! Have you been a good boy this year?”

Mark blinked in slight surprise, then burst out laughing. “Huhuhuh oh my fucking god, Jack, you _nerd._ You fucking _toddler._ I can't believe you. How could you bombard me with this level of immaturity? I trusted you! I wasn't prepared for this!” Mark clutched at his bruised, trembling sides with a slight grimace and tried to get his breathing back in order through lingering giggles. “Don't play dumb; you _know_ I've been naughty as fuck this year, Santa. You're a very bad influence.”

Jack burst out laughing as well, scooping up more bubbles and blowing them at Mark. “Well then, guess Santa won't bring you presents this year…”

“Good thing you're not the real Santa then ‘cause otherwise I'd call you out on a lie.” Mark smirked even as he rolled his eyes. “You give me _lots_ of presents every day.” Some of which were _not_ suitable for children and were precisely the reason _both_ of them were on the naughty list.

Splashing the bubbles a little more, Jack wiggled deeper in the water. “Wanted to make sure there were _plenty_ of bubbles. Better safe than sorry! Closing my eyes now. Let me know when you're ready.” He folded his arms on the tub edge again and buried his face, beard and all, in the gap.

(There was still a muffled “ow”; probably because of Jack’s nose.)

Once Jack had hunkered down with eyes closed, Mark felt safe to shuck off his jeans. He folded and set them aside next to Jack’s clothes. “I think there's more bubbles than water in there. How the heck is that even possible?” Mark shook his head, fingering at the waistband of his boxers.

This was it. Mark had never, _never_ taken his underwear off in the same room as anyone else besides medical personnel since he was released. If Jack had any opportunities to see him fully nude, it was when Mark had already been undressed and he could feel his anxiety bubbling up. ‘ _Jack’s not looking. Jack's not looking; no one's looking. No one can see. It's safe. Think of Jack._ ** _Think of Jack.’_**

Mark took a deep breath, stared hard at green floof already spotted with bubbles, and pushed down his boxers. They pooled at his feet and he used folding them as a distraction. The first burst of fear was intense, but Mark looked around and there were still no eyes on him. His shoulders itched in a way which couldn't be scratched while Mark shut the door, set his boxers aside and released the breath he'd taken. “Easy, easy, it's okay….” He whispered, having convinced himself he was alone, but he wasn't. Jack was still there, silent and hiding his face, waiting for Mark to join him and Mark lightly clenched his fists to avoid agitating his knuckles. “I'm coming in.”

It took a lot of careful maneuvering and some jostling, but Mark eventually managed to squeeze himself in behind Jack. Even with a big tub, they were still two full grown men and for once, he appreciated the fact they were both on the smaller side. Especially Jack, who was just about the right size to slot up in front of him. Technically, he was between Mark’s legs, but his ass came to rest somewhere around Mark’s knees so that was okay. After checking to make absolutely certain he was coated from the waist down in fluffy bubbles, Mark leaned back against the tub with a relieved sigh. The hot water already felt incredible on his aching muscles.

Smirk returning, Mark gathered up some of the foam and applied it liberally to his face. He made sure his beard was of adequate length and threw some bubbles on his chest too for good measure. When in doubt, humor it out and if he couldn't beat Jack then he would join him. “Hoho, you can look now, even though Santaplier’s heard you've been a very naughty boy.”

Jack shivered and lifted his head, his own beard having escaped down his chest and he giggled. “Oh Santaplier, can't I sit on your lap and show you just how _good_ I can be?” He leaned over to blow at Mark's beard, dispersing it across the tub, and grinned.

“Pfffff- see Jackaboy, this is _exactly_ the kind of bad behavior that got you put on the naughty list in the first place. What am I gonna do with you?” Mark giggled as well when Jack vanished his beard.

“Failing that, can I just lean back against your chest?” Jack inquired with a hopeful tone.

Mark was contemplating a good PewDiePie joke when he felt hands press against his knees. He didn't flinch, but he paused. At Jack’s request, he drew in a deep, steadying breath. His hands came around to find Jack’s biceps, sliding up and down to leave bubbles in his wake while Mark squeezed. “Slow and careful. Light- just try not to move a lot. Or, slide down. Okay? I need.. need to go at a pace I'm comfortable with….”

Once Mark had gotten Jack’s consent to his conditions, he gently pulled his boyfriend back. He could feel Jack’s hips sliding along his thighs, pushing them apart. Mark had to stop at that. He sucked in a tight breath. “...talk. Jack, talk, please.”

“It's okay, Mark, it's just me. It's just me, and I'm not going anywhere you're not letting me. You're in control here, Mark. You're in control, and I love you. I love _this_ , it feels so good, the heat in our sore muscles. After a long day together, to just cuddle up in a warm bath, it's just so _nice_. So relaxing. This is all about us feeling good, Mark. If it doesn't feel good, we shouldn't do it. Not tonight.” Jack spoke, his fingers crossing over to pet at Mark's hands on him.

“I wanna use you as a pillow, Mark. I want to rest my head on your shoulder and have you wrap your arms around me, and we can both be warm and together, surrounded by bubbles. So many bubbles.” Jack giggled a little. “We should invest in bubble bath.”

Mark sucked in another breath, then let it out in a heavy sigh. His muscles relaxed as Jack rambled, until his grip could loosen as well. The hands on his own were a comfort; a reassurance. ‘ _I'm in control. Me. No one else.’_ Mark repeated the words several times in his head as he dragged Jack back. ‘ _I can stop…’_ He paused and there were no consequences. Mark sagged some more. ‘ _I can stop and it'll be okay. I'm okay. It's just Jack. Just Jack….’_ Mark pulled Jack until he could feel those hips resting snug at about mid-thigh. Close enough for Jack to lean back against him but not so close as to let Jack’s ass touch his dick and that was important. Tenderly, Mark coaxed Jack to lay back. “We’ll buy a shit ton on the way home- nngh. Okay. There.”

Jack was pressed to Mark. His back curved down over Mark’s bruised torso before arching away to leave a sizable gap. Mark’s hands slid up to rest at Jack’s shoulders and squeezed again while he kissed the top of Jack’s damp hair. “Better?”

Jack sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing against Mark's chest. “Mm. I love you. I love this. Thank you, Mark. Thank you hotel for providing bubbles.” His hands splashed lightly at the foam before they relaxed as well and Mark smiled.

This wasn't so bad. Mark had never experienced anything like it in the room so as long as Jack didn't accidentally touch his dick, he should be just fine. The thought bolstered his confidence. “Love you too. Just relax. I'm okay. Thanks hotel.” He said the words with a light snicker.

They just lay together like that for a handful of minutes, Jack practically dozing off with his hair tickling at Mark’s neck and Mark with his hands pressed to narrow shoulders while the rise and fall of his chest half-rocked his boyfriend in the water. There was nothing scary; nothing threatening or dangerous. Just hot water, bubbles and Jack. Jack, who still had tense muscles beneath Mark’s hands. He hummed and let the curious appendages wander. They slipped between their bodies- pressing and feeling- to find all the little knots which had formed over the weeks and Mark scoffed. “I never did finish giving you that back rub, did I? Think you've got the motivation to sit up and let me try again?”

Jack moaned. “For a little slice of heaven, hell yeah I can sit up…” He tilted his head back first though, to press a kiss to Mark’s chin. “You're too good for me…”

With a little groan, Jack reached for Mark's knees again and hauled himself up off his chest. He bent his legs up in front of him, knobby, bruised knees poking out of the bubbles, and leaned forward against his thighs. “Do your best…”

Mark couldn't help it. Jack was cute, and the kiss tickled a little. He giggled. “A lot of people would say it's the other way around.” He lightly rubbed his hands up and down Jack’s back as it was exposed to the open air again, wiping away bubbles. “I would too….” he murmured as an afterthought. “So if I can treat you to a ‘little slice of heaven’ then I'm going to….” Mark traced a few silly patterns against Jack’s back with the lingering foam: dicks, doggies, stars and little hearts that would disappear beneath a quick peck of his lips. Jack giggled, splashing his hands through the bubbles again.

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I'm five and your back is beautiful. Especially here…” Mark gently pressed fingertips to Jack's tattoo. If he could lean down far enough, he'd kiss that too, but rubbing a few light circles into the inked skin would have to suffice.

“I don't think anyone's ever called my _back_ beautiful before,” Jack mused, turning his head to the side and resting his cheek on his knees. “But it does have your name on it, so I'm glad you like it.”

Mark leaned forward as his hands returned to Jack’s shoulder blades, giving a push. “Brace yourself, laddie,” he rumbled into Jack’s ear. “And try not to cum.” The hint of a snicker gave away the fact Mark was clearly teasing Jack. Well, that and the fact he used “laddie” of all terms. He knew this was supposed to be cuddly and affectionate but he just couldn't help himself. With Jack, back rubs felt like an intimate, sensual experience. He pulled away and set to work with his thumbs first. They sought out the little knots of tension like homing missiles and attacked without mercy.

“Fuck…” Jack whispered, melting across his knees, giving happy moans of pleasure every time Mark found a particularly tight spot.

“ _Everything_ about you is beautiful, Jack. Every last body part. Bit. I should say bit that's a lot less creepy and serial killerish.” Mark amended sheepishly while his hands set to work on Jack’s neglected muscles. “Maybe I'm biased. I dunno. But _I_ love every part of you. All of you. Even the ones that can _drive me crazy.”_ Mark ground his thumbs in extra hard down either side of Jack’s spine, then let his fingernails glide back up to raise goosebumps on Jack’s skin, as if to emphasize his next words. “But that's okay, ‘cause I know I can drive you crazy too. In a few ways. Am I driving you crazy, Jack?” He kneaded his way back down and rolled his thumbs over the tattoo again. Mark wondered how much more sensitive that spot was compared to the rest of Jack’s back.

Jack smiled, pink-cheeked and groaning, pressing back against Mark’s wicked thumbs. Enthralled, Mark leaned in to lay another kiss against Jack’s shoulder blade with a happy sigh. “Your little moans always drive _me_ wild. Somehow they're adorable and sexy at the same time. Just like you. Especially when I put my hands on you…” Mark squeezed at Jack’s hips. “Fuck, I love putting my hands on you… _all over_ you….”

“I’ll never complain about your hands on me,” Jack purred, boneless. “I love your touch, Mark. Even when you’re not _massaging_. Just contact between us, your hands on my body… _mmm_. Touch me, Mark. Touch me _all over…_ ”

“All over?” Mark murmured the question into Jack’s shoulder. His fingertips tapped a little rhythm along Jack’s ribs as he hummed; considering those words. He _had_ claimed he loved putting his hands _all over_ Jack- and he did. Mark just never had the opportunity, or presence of mind, or just plain _nerve_ to do so. Maybe it was time for a change. They were both calm and relaxed in their little bubble bath and Jack was beyond pliant beneath Mark’s fingers. Mark himself wasn't all that anxious now he'd settled in with the lovely distraction that was his boyfriend. Would there ever be a better opportunity?

Mark didn't think so. “...what would you say to me… doing that, Sean? Touching you all over; right now? Just feeling out your body here under the water…. I can't see anything. I could do it. I.. I _want_ to do it. If that's okay. I _know_ you always tell me I have free reign but I just… I have to check.” For his own comfort, Mark scattered butterfly kisses across the expanse of Jack’s shoulders.

“I’d say _please_.” Jack twisted his head more so he could look back at Mark with one blue eye. “Mark, if you want to, go for it. I’m not recording. We’re not in public. You can absolutely satisfy your curiosity on what I’m packing beneath these bubbles…” He smirked at Mark and gave a little wiggle. “You know you wanna… just know that I’m not unaffected by your magic fingers.”

Mark snorted into Jack’s shoulder and gave his hips another rough squeeze. “Well let’s see. I already know you got a dick, and I also know you have a _fantastic_ ass. Oh, and some balls. Okay, a _lot_ of balls. Am I missing anything? Is there some super secret mutation JackSepticEye is hiding from the rest of the world?” He pressed his grin against Jack’s skin and whispered, “It’s okay, Jack. I’ve got a medical condition too. Three balls.”

He ended up laughing a bit more at his own referenced joke than intended. Mark winced and removed one hand from Jack to rub gently at his own ribs. “Huhuh… fuck… it’s not fair. I wanna laugh.” Huffing with irritation but hardly turned off from his proposition, Mark returned the appendage to pale skin and started exploring. His hands smoothed over the planes of Jack’s back and sides, two places he knew very well, then curved around his shoulders and down past biceps and elbows to sink beneath the water. Mark kissed Jack’s shoulder, keeping his mouth there and focusing on the actions of his fingers. His touch was light and quick where it glided effortlessly over Jack’s hips. Mark’s fingertips located Jack’s thighs and slid down them in a caress that was eagerly followed by his palms. He didn’t stop until he reached Jack’s knees, squeezing at the muscle there with his own chest now pressed up against Jack’s back. He kissed the spot just behind Jack’s ear. _“Beautiful.”_

Jack went even redder, pressing his cheek closer against his knees. “So are you.” He closed his eyes, sighing again. “I love you…”

“Love you more than all the things….” Mark kissed at Jack’s ear again and let his hands sweep back up. They dodged skillfully over Jack’s entire crotch area to instead touch upon his abs and Mark stroked the lean muscle there; up and down before rubbing light circles against the skin. He hooked his chin over Jack’s shoulder while his hands coaxed Jack back away from his knees. _“Wanna see you….”_ Mark let his vocal chords rumble against Jack’s skin.

He watched his hands as they rose up from the sea of bubbles to stroke and squeeze at Jack’s chest. Mark massaged Jack’s pectoral muscles for a few moments then let his fingers naturally slide down over already hardened nipples. They caught between two of the digits, and he squeezed. His mouth found the side of Jack’s neck. “Can’t see lower than your stomach. It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t hold back… wanna hear you….”

Jack was limp in Mark's arms. He leaned his head against Mark's and arched his back. “ _Ah_ , yes, that's g-good, Mark…”

There were still bruises spotting Jack's chest and shoulders, lingering love bites from last night. Jack looked down at his own chest, moaning softly. “Fuck, Mark, how are you so _good_ with your hands?”

Mark paused at the question. He knew it could be taken as rhetorical, but it was still a question nonetheless.

_“Touch like this.” “Turn your hand- ahh, fuck, that's the ticket!” “Put your fingers there._ **_There._ ** _There, Markimoo!” “That's right, move’em just like that, mmm… now you're getting it….”_ **_“We’re gonna teach you how to be good with your hands. How to pleasure your master like a good boy.”_ **

Mark huffed out a weak, shallow breath and tucked his head down in an effort to hide some of his face behind his dark fringe- outside Jack’s field of vision. He forced his hands to move again, though they abandoned Jack’s nipples in favor of his shoulders and biceps. Mark squeezed at them with a smile on his face that was rough around the edges. “Haha… just practice, I guess. Playing video games and shit like that. Or maybe I just know exactly where you like to be touched.” He could do it, he could keep going. He wouldn't let his anxiety take control.

“You know that's not how I meant it,” Jack murmured. “I love you. No matter _how_ you use your hands.”

“I know… I know you’d never….” Mark sucked in a little breath and let his hands slide back down Jack’s arms. “...I love you. I _do._ A-and I know, that you love me. No matter what. It’s just… hard. Sometimes. To convince my body that. I’m sorry. I love you.” He turned his head to kiss at Jack’s neck. “I trust you. You didn’t mean to.” Another kiss, and then Mark was trailing them down over Jack’s shoulder. His hands found Jack’s stomach again and came to rest there comfortably while Mark nuzzled into Jack’s skin with a shuddering breath. “...they’re never gonna leave me alone, are they?”

Jack took a deep breath and covered Mark's hands with his. “We'll keep shoving them away. Reclaiming your life. One thing at a time. Look at this, Mark. Look at us. Beneath these bubbles... _I'm completely naked_.” He nudged his chin against Mark's hair and squeezed his hands. “And so are you. And we're _together_ , and did you even think this would be possible? This _soon_? It hasn't even been a year, and look at how far you've come.”

“No….” Had anyone asked Mark if he’d even be able to take his shirt off in front of another person before the year was out, he would have looked at them like they were insane- or way too optimistic. Yet there he was, sitting naked in a bath with an _equally naked_ Jack; his boyfriend. The boyfriend he loved and _touched_ and who did the same in return.

Jack kissed at Mark's hair, just out of reach, and smiled. “We'll keep shoving them away and moving ahead, and they won't have any power over you eventually. We'll get there. Together.”

Mark pressed his nose into Jack’s skin and breathed. “They’re not gonna win. They’re not. I won’t let them. _You_ won’t let them. We’re gonna stop’em, together. Just like we did with that asshole in the bathroom…. We’re gonna show they don’t have any power over us. None. Not out here. Never again.”

Mark dug his fingertips into Jack’s stomach and lifted his face away from Jack’s shoulder at last, turning to face the other. Jack was close. Mark’s lips were slightly parted while his eyelids drooped low beneath the loving gaze of brilliant blues and he made a soft sound at the back of his throat. _Kiss?_

Jack met Mark's mouth, lifting one hand to thread fingers through Mark's hair as they kissed, soft and slow and loving, just like this bath. It took a few seconds, but a majority of Mark’s tension rushed out of him in a single woosh. He breathed it all out through his nose and sank deep into Jack’s mouth with his own. His eyelids fluttered, but he still didn’t dare to close them- not now. Not when the situation was so vulnerable and fragile. Mark squeezed at Jack’s stomach one more time before allowing his hands to roam again and they traced fingertips around the curve of Jack’s ribs to his back. He located the tattoo- knowing exactly where it was by heart- and rubbed at his initials; his claim on Jack. Mark could feel _Jack’s_ claim tingling at his own back and he sighed into their kiss. Slowly, his fingers inched lower from the tattoo until they could brush lightly against the swell of Jack’s ass. Mark knew he’d reached it by the squish factor; information he gained by giving a good squeeze and he snorted around Jack’s lips. “Gotchurbutt.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, clearly fighting off the urge to bust up laughing. He did have to break the kiss, ducking his head and gulping in a few sharp breaths. “So you do,” he finally said, lifting his head to look into Mark's dark eyes. “Now that you have it, what are you gonna do with it?” He gave a little shimmy.

Mark’s breaths were in tandem with Jack’s, but equally quick. His cheeks went a little pink as he felt Jack wiggle further into his fingers. Mark focused on how, well, _nice_ Jack’s ass felt in his grip and the humor factor to avoid anything else which could potentially be triggering- and it worked. “‘M gonna squeeze it.” He slid his hands lower to better cup at Jack’s cheeks and gave them a hearty squeeze. A tiny grin began inching across his face. “It’s so _squishy._ Ohmygod Jack, it’s like one of those foam balls. Or a pillow. Ohmygod.” _Squish. Squishsquish._ Mark was bubbling up with more giggles while he all but groped Jack. “Fuck, Jack, I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to _squish your fluffy ass._ What the fuck. This shouldn’t be so fun. I’m going to Hell.”

Jack burst out laughing that time. “ _Oh my god_ , Mark, have you never touched a butt before!?” He squirmed a little. “I bet even _your_ perfect specimen of an ass has some squish to it!”

“Well not a _naked_ butt! I bet you haven’t either!” Mark countered with light indignation. He was still grinning, though, wrapped up in his amusement with the new discovery. “ _My_ ass is buns of fuckin’ _steel,_ thanks. Firm as a rock. Yours…” He gave Jack a harder grope; slightly less innocent, a little more sexual and Mark smirked. “...not so much.”

“Not a naked man-butt,” Jack acquiesced with a cheeky grin. “But Mark, I _have_ had girlfriends before. And we've _done the sex_.”

“Yeah, yeah, man-butts and man-sex and all that. Whatever. Your butt is still fluffy and I’m still gonna touch it.” Mark huffed. He kept rubbing at Jack’s ass, but then his fingers dipped into Jack’s crack on accident and Mark blinked. “Oh.” He’d been so enthralled by Jack’s ass _cheeks_ he’d forgotten about the part in-between. Curiously, he slipped the barest of fingertips down the cleft. “...hey, Jack… can I….”

Jack’s grin became less cheeky and more needy. “Mark… yeah. Yeah, of course you can.” He gave another squirm, sliding his ass along Mark’s finger. “Go for it…”

Jack seemed eager enough, so Mark figured there was no need to hesitate on his boyfriend’s part. There was only his own nerves to worry about. Gently, Mark slipped several of his fingers in. He let the digits slide up and down, then curled his hand around one of Jack’s cheeks to squeeze again. “Oh it’s almost as fun to squeeze this way. Does it feel good??” From the way Jack spoke with a hint of breathlessness, how he wiggled closer to Mark’s fingers, he seemed to _want_ it- a lot. Which meant he _must_ be enjoying it at least to some degree.

Jack snorted. “ _Does it feel good,_ ” he parroted. “Does it feel good, my ass!” Giggle. Snort.

Dubious, Mark rubbed lightly over Jack’s hole and watched his boyfriend carefully for his immediate reactions. Those would be the truest ones.

 _Gasp._ Jack bit his lip and looked back at Mark with wide eyes. “D-do that again?”

“Nerd.” Mark muttered fondly. Still, Jack’s reaction to Mark basically _fondling his butthole_ (oh my god he was going to start cracking up again) was unexpected- bewildering, even. Mark _had_ fingers in that spot before. He knew _exactly_ what it felt like to have _anything_ shoved in there, yet Jack apparently _liked_ it. Liked it enough to ask Mark for _more_ and Mark couldn’t say no to that face anymore than Jack could refuse his.

Tentatively, Mark repeated the motion. He almost bit at his lip but recalled the still healing scab just in time. He briefly clenched his jaw instead, then dragged his tongue over the day old wound. “Jack.” Mark’s voice was small and wary even as he rubbed gingerly into Jack’s crack. “You… really like this? Really? I don’t…. How??”

Jack twisted in the tub to look back at Mark and the act alone moved his body away from Mark’s hand. “Mark… Mark, can I show you?” He lifted a hand out of the bubbles to trace Mark’s jaw. “Can I turn around and touch _you_?”

“Jack…” Mark stared at him with a mixture of confusion and apprehension in his eyes. However, he leaned into the familiar touch and his own hand retreated from Jack’s ass to fold naturally over the one resting on his face. Mark leaned slightly forward with the fingers of his other hand lingering on Jack’s hip. “I’m… what if I freak out? What if I start panicking? It was always so hard when Dr. Agon or the nurses would touch there, Jack. I know it’s been months but I don’t… I don’t know how I’ll react. If someone else touches there. It was.. it was bad. _Really_ bad.” Jack couldn’t see the aftermath of these particular scars, not with several inches of bubbles concealing their lower halves from view.

“Dr. Agon or the nurses aren’t _me_ ,” Jack said softly. He leaned in to catch Mark’s lips with his own, kissing him softly, running his tongue along the bottom lip. “Mark, I know you. I know when you start getting triggered, and I know how to bring you back. I love you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll go _real_ slow, and if it’s too much, I’ll stop. I promise.”

Mark stuttered out a warm breath. “W-well Dr. Agon or the nurses definitely wouldn’t have done _that…._ ” he murmured in reference to the kisses. He followed the path Jack’s tongue had taken with his own and swallowed because that little smile was tearing him up inside (in a good way).

Jack kissed Mark again. “We can face each other,” he said. “I’ll turn around, and you can… you can sit on my lap. On top of my legs, so you’re not trapped at all, and if you need to move away or get up, you can. If you jerk away, I’ll close my eyes immediately so you can get out. I just… I just want to try, Mark. To try to show you why _I_ like it.” He rubbed his fingers over Mark’s beard and smiled faintly. “May I?”

Jack was just so _good_ to Mark. He was patient, and he gave Mark every single out he possibly could. Mark couldn’t deny his curiosity. His body, heart, mind; everything emphatically proclaimed there should be _nothing_ enjoyable about _anything_ going near or into his butt, yet there Jack had been, rolling back against Mark’s fingers and nearly begging for more. What was he missing? What was different? The questions would drive him _crazy_ while he lay in bed at night if he didn’t at least give Jack a chance; if he didn’t give it a test outside the horrors of the room. At one point, Mark had thought he’d never like hands on his dick again either, yet during their last session he nearly _pleaded_ with Jack to do just that. So many thoughts and feelings that had been conditioned into him were _wrong_ and Mark wanted to change that. He drew in a tremulous breath, supplied a comparatively shaky nod and squeezed at Jack’s fingers. “...o-okay. Okay… we can try. But- I think. We should use.. uh.. words. Warnings. They’re like… safety words? Or something? I read about it online. I’ve been wanting to mention it, but things kept happening and I was just so happy to see you the past two days….”

Jack nodded his agreement. “Yeah, absolutely. That makes perfect sense. I mean, I’d always stop if you told me to, but I know they didn’t, so I know when you start losing it, you might not trust those words. If we come up with something that definitely, absolutely, no matter what means _stop right now_ , then… yeah. Yes. It’ll give you that power back, even in your panic. Right?” Jack twisted his wrist to brush his fingers against Mark’s. “Did you have any in mind?”

Relief trickled into Mark’s system at Jack’s easy acceptance. He’d been worried Jack might think the idea was pointless or silly sounding, but he should have known his fears were completely unfounded. Mark tangled up their fingers together after making certain the hand on his face was Jack’s good one, and the smile finally creeping back to his lips was bashful, but a little excited. Like a child explaining a new game to a best friend. “Well… I think random words would be too hard for me to remember. Or think of, in the moment. So I figured… how ‘bout a stoplight? Y’know. Red for stop, green for go, maybe yellow for caution…? They’re easy. And colors have always stuck out better for me than just words. It’ll be hard for me to forget what they mean or when I should use them… just like a traffic stop. It’s sorta ingrained in me already. This would be a good test for them, too.”

“So… Red Light, Green Light, but not the type we played as kids?” Jack grinned and squeezed their fingers together. “That works! It’ll be easy for me to remember too, so it’s not like you go ‘Felix!’ and I go ‘Where!?’”

“Lemme say it again: _nerd._ ” The fact Jack’s joke was lame didn’t stop Mark from chuckling at all. The mention of Felix only made it worse and he immediately shook his head. “ _No._ Never. Not happening. We are _not_ uttering Felix’s damn name while we do all this gay stuff, Jack. Dammit. No matter how hilarious his face would be if he found out….”

Jack nodded. “Okay, so, if I said I wanted to turn around and face you fully, because this twisting is undoing all the good you did my back, what color would that be?”

Mark sighed. He was the one who wanted to implement the system so he had to take it seriously. After a few moments spent rebuilding his composure, Mark spoke. There was still hesitance in his voice but his tone belied no hints of doubt or regret. “Yyyy… yellow. Definitely yellow.”

“Okay. Scoot back,” Jack advised. “My legs are all achy still, so I’m not gonna be as graceful as I usually am. More like dead deer instead of baby deer.”

Mark snorted. “Jesus, Jack, be a little more depressing with your similes why don’t you.” He pulled back to press up against the tiled wall and watched Jack perform an awkward little spin-around. The sight was actually kind of amusing and he found himself giggling. Then Jack’s legs were brushing his knees and Mark stilled. He glanced anxiously down at the bubbles but forced his gaze to return to Jack. Jack was calming, Jack was _safe._

“So… okay. Now, um… maybe if you can lift up a bit? There’s enough bubbles, but I can close my eyes anyway, and I’ll stretch my legs out, and then you can sit? Try to go above my knees: you don’t have to come too close, but I’ve got some big bruises right on my kneecaps, and you’ve theoretically got buns of steel, so…” Jack mumbled, clearly trying to sort out the easiest, least triggering way to perform this bathtub maneuver.

Mark was going to be okay. Breathing a bit shaky, Mark dragged his hands up out of the water to clutch at the edges of the bathtub. “A-and that was a _metaphor,_ Jack. You know my ass is just as squishable as yours. Don’t pretend.” Still, he’d be careful. Mark waited until Jack had closed his eyes to push himself up off the floor of the tub. It was extremely difficult not to start gnawing at his lip and by the time he felt Jack’s legs settle, his arms were quivering. He half-wiggled, half-shuffled his way forward until he’d felt the knobs of Jack’s knees slip past his ass. Only then did Mark slowly lower himself down into Jack’s lap. There wasn’t enough space to stretch out his legs, so he kept them bent with his knees tugged close to his chest. At least like this, he knew he wasn’t in the room. They would have _never_ let him take such a defensive position in their laps. “Y.. yellow… bright, bright yellow.”

Jack cracked an eye open to peer up at Mark. “Is bright, bright yellow closer to red or green?” he asked. Jack hesitated, then opened the other eye. He reached up slowly to stroke Mark’s biceps. “Hmm, I dunno about your ass’ squishiness. I haven’t gotten a chance to really squish it like you did mine. I’m only going off of what you told me…” He smiled reassuringly at Mark. “We good?”

“Uhhh… red? Maybe I should say orange?? Haha, crap, that’s a mess.” Of course Mark would end up making something simple overly complicated. It happened more often when he was nervous- which he was. Mark tried hard to focus on anything _but_ what was distinctly toeing the line of his triggers. His breathing, Jack’s blue eyes, the sound of that lilting Irish accent.

He watched Jack’s arms like they were two uncoiling snakes but managed not to outright flinch from his boyfriend’s touch. Jack’s hands were warm and wet. The callouses he was so accustomed to feeling had been softened by their extended period of soaking in the warm water. Keeping his breathing steady, Mark gave a tiny nod. “Still yellow. Trust me, Jack. There’s a reason everyone fawns over the Markibooty.”

Jack slid his hands along Mark’s arms from shoulders to elbows and kept his eyes on Mark’s face. “The water’s still warm,” he said. “We can take as long as you need to go from yellow to green. Is there anything else you’d like me to do to help you relax? Want a kiss? Hug? Want me to touch you elsewhere?”

Initially, Mark shivered at Jack’s gentle rubbing, but after a short while grew used to the sensation again. It wasn’t all that different from when Jack would usually rub at his arms, there was just the addition of water (and no clothes). Mark fingered at Jack’s sides, sweeping up and down, then gripped gingerly at his waist in an effort to keep himself steady. “...a kiss would be nice. Maybe… maybe touch my chest? And my abs.. up here. Not… not too low, yet. But green on the rest.”

Jack slid his hands up Mark’s neck to cradle the base of his head as he leaned in for a kiss and an almost sleepy sort of comfort seeped into Mark’s bones; deep and tender and loving. His shoulders slumped and his knees relaxed some from their previously tight, bunched up position. For the scarcest of moments, Mark’s eyes closed from pure bliss while Jack combed through his mouth with his tongue.

Jack’s hands slid down slowly, feeling over Mark’s pecs and sweeping fingers across his nipples. His hands didn’t dip beneath the water at all, only caressing the parts of Mark exposed to him already.

Mark’s eyes were quick to flutter open again. He sucked in a breath through his nose and pressed harder into Jack’s kiss. He squeezed Jack’s waist as if to brace himself but the hands on his chest felt nice. The brush over his nipples felt even _nicer._ (Fuck it, that friction was _amazing._ ) Mark twitched and breathed a little moan into Jack’s mouth when his toes curled. Seconds later he was breaking their kiss with a soft “pop”. “D-do that again.”

With a nod, Jack swept his fingers across Mark’s nipples again. He pressed lightly against the tight buds, then spiraled out and away until his hands were stretched flat across Mark’s chest, and he pulled his fingertips back in to gently pinch and flick.

“You are so beautiful,” Jack breathed as he watched Mark. “Some days, I still can’t believe I get to do this to you. That you _want_ me to.”

Mark shuddered and groaned, but this time it was more audible without Jack’s mouth present to soak up the sound. His cheeks regained some of their rosy color as arousal and slight embarrassment crashed into him at once. It was different from **_them._** Whenever _they_ messed with Mark’s nipples, it was never because Mark _asked_ them to. They never did it just to make Mark feel good. It was always done to humiliate or purely arouse him (thus humiliating him further). Mark was always riding them, or being tugged back against their chest to leave him fully exposed for the camera. Jack did none of those things.

He touched Mark in precisely the way Mark wanted most because he _knew_ what Mark craved from experience. Jack knew how to make Mark squirm and moan but he never abused it. He only ever gave Mark exactly what he wanted. Mark jolted a little from the light pinch and emitted a soft cry of pleasure. Thankfully, his own thighs prevented Jack from feeling the way Mark’s dick jumped in response to the action.

He was starting to pant, but it was the good kind of heavy breathing. The one Mark could put a stop to at any time but wordlessly told Jack he was enjoying the current scenario. Mark rubbed his hands up and down Jack’s sides again, staring at his boyfriend with pupils slightly dilated. “I wouldn’t let anyone else…. Not even a chance. Touch me, Jack. Please.. touch me lower. Touch my stomach. My sides. My back… please touch me _there._ ” Mark hoped Jack understood which “there” he meant.

Jack kissed Mark’s reddened cheek, petting over his nipples. “I _love_ your sounds,” he reassured Mark. “Just like you love mine. I love hearing you enjoy me.”

“I _always_ enjoy you….” Mark whined; breathless and rough as Jack continued turning him on. It had taken a while for Mark to actually be comfortable with letting Jack fully hear him. The video clips on that damned website never had audio, but **_they_** could hear his every sound just fine. _They_ never hesitated to abuse him for them, but Jack _loved_ Mark’s sounds and so he knew it was safe. He knew his only responses would be loving compliments or furthering Jack’s own enjoyment.

Jack’s hands dropped slowly down Mark’s chest, seeking out scars and rubbing gently over them. He teased Mark’s belly button with a finger for a minute, then slid his hands apart and over his sides. On Mark’s back, he dared to drag his nails gently down, over the broad expanse of muscle, until his hand could settle possessively _there_ , over his initials.

“It’s me, Mark,” Jack murmured as he rubbed those letters, his nails scraping across Mark’s skin again. “It’s just me, here in front of you, under you. It’s just me. You’re safe here. I love you. I want you to feel good. Are you feeling good?”

Jack was still giving Mark only what he asked for- _everything_ he asked for. The hands petting over his bruised muscles felt wonderful and there was something unspeakably sensual (maybe even erotic?) about Jack tracing out his scars. They both had memorized where every single one rested in Mark’s skin: Jack through touch, Mark through experience. Jack didn't need to see under the bubbles to know where his hands should go. He didn't need a map or a peek to locate the most important scar on Mark’s lower back and every drag of nails triggered his spine to arch with a soft gasp against Jack’s hair. He shivered when Jack toyed with the initials carved into his skin and finally released the curve of Jack’s hips while he stuttered.

“ _Y-yeah._ Yeah, I'm feeling.. f-feeling.. _fuck,_ Jack. _Jack._ ” Mark wrapped muscular arms around his boyfriend’s neck and sank forward. He nosed at Jack’s jaw until he had enough space to tuck his face into his favorite little nook. Lips still parted, Mark breathed heavy and warm across Jack’s skin. _“Touch me.”_ Mark’s legs gently shifted forward with his body to fold beneath him. His knees pressed into Jack’s thighs while his shins were forced to slightly part to either side. ‘ _Not straddling. Still not straddling he can't feel my dick like this and I can't really feel his.’_ Mark silently reassured himself while the muscles in his back twitched from the sensations of Jack’s fingers and nails. “K-keep touching me. Please.” His scar was just peeking up out of the bubbles but everything beneath remained hidden. “Green light… no, yellow? I… j-just slow. _Slow,_ please. Careful.. I…”

Jack kissed at Mark’s hair and tucked his cheek against his head. As Mark unfolded from his defensive position, Jack murmured soft reassurances into his dark strands. “If this makes you feel good, how about this?” Jack’s fingers dipped lower, caressing skin usually hidden beneath the waistband of Mark’s underwear. He slid his hands over the swell of Mark’s ass, pressing gently with the pads of his fingers (but not his nails).

Mark shivered and breathed out a light gasp into Jack’s neck as he finally felt those fingers hit home. The last person to touch his ass _sensually_ had large, knobby hands and a leering grin which never failed to make Mark’s insides mush painfully. They would grope and squeeze and _claw_ at the skin; leaving marks even without an actual weapon. He'd be slapped, or moved around to a better position and ever since that room Mark had associated a touch to his ass with a major threat.

“I’m just going to touch you right now, Mark. I’m not going to touch you _there_ , not yet. Just here, just over your skin. I’m gonna go lower, okay? Just like I would if you were wearing your pants. We’ve done this before. Still feels good?” Jack kept his cheek against Mark’s hair as he slid his hand down and down, tucking just beneath Mark’s ass. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, Mark. Flaws and all. You’re beautiful.”

Jack was peeling Mark’s abused mindset apart one stroke of his palms at a time. Mark couldn't remember the last instance his ass was touched and he actually didn't mind- let alone _enjoyed._ It wasn’t all that different from how Jack had been feeling out the rest of his body. Just small, knobby hands with all the calluses worn down caressing his skin and scars. Mark’s arms curled tighter around Jack’s neck while his own hands trailed down the curve of Jack’s back, fingertips pressing in to mimic the ones on his ass. He pushed his mouth against Jack’s neck. “ _Jack, Jack._ It… y-yeah. Yeah, it still feels good, it…” Mark breathed out a teary sounding whimper and kissed Jack’s neck. “I love you… so much…. Jack…” He gave a very light sniffle. “Gr-green light….”

Jack had touched Mark now; his dick. He'd touched his ass before, but not bare like this. He’d never touched his bare thighs like this either but it was easier, with the bubbles. He didn’t have to watch Jack's fingers map out the scars; see how they mutilated him. He could feel, though, even through the warm water he could feel where Jack brushed fingertips or pressed in against muscles which had once strained against harsh hands and unyielding binds. He clung shakily to Jack's back and shoulders and buried his face further into green hair, in a neck still bruised by his own bites. He trembled from overwhelming emotion and the sensitivity they had carved into his skin.

“I’ve got you, Mark,” Jack murmured. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s just me.” He slid his hands down the undersides of Mark’s thighs as far as he could go without forcing Mark to move, then up around the sides. Jack took a deep breath, his fingers stroking back up to the crease in front of Mark’s thighs where his legs were bent to sit in Jack’s lap, and then back around to Mark’s ass.

Everything about Jack helped Mark stay grounded in the moment. His voice, his scent, how _his_ body felt beneath _his_ hands. The fact he could nuzzle into Jack’s hair and _know_ it was Jack’s. The words of comfort were icing on the cake that separated Jack from those other men; from that _monster_ masquerading as a human being who had tried to permanently taint everything that was good and _pleasant_ about physical intimacy for Mark. Everything good about loving someone and his breath hitched as Jack’s hands roamed. He held it when Jack neared his groin, but of course Jack skipped over it. Mark released the little inhale and sank back into Jack’s arms.

“You can stop me at any time,” Jack reminded Mark. “And I will. Just say red, and I’ll stop. I’m going to do that again, though. Gonna touch you just like I just did.” He rubbed his cheek over Mark’s hair and hesitated slightly. “Let me… let me know if you want me to try something more.”

Mark nodded, giving Jack’s shoulders a squeeze with his biceps. “It… it's fine, it's fine, just… j-just yellow. I…. I-it helps, that we’re like this…. that you aren't… behind me….” Mark could see Jack’s face if he wanted; look into Jack’s gorgeous blue eyes. Jack wasn't shamelessly groping at him or pulling him onto his dick. His hands were free. He did his best to breathe; he was okay.

"Just keep focused on me," Jack said. "Remember that it's me, that I love you, that I'd never, _never_ hurt you." He kissed Mark's dark hair and cupped Mark's ass in his hands again.  
  
"Does it hurt?" he asked, pressing his palms tighter against the firm muscle before returning to the gentle petting of wet skin. "What I'm doing? Does it hurt, or feel wrong?" Back of thighs, around to the front of thighs, then over Mark’s hips and back to his ass. Jack pressed lightly as he moved his hands, rubbing the strong muscles beneath the damaged skin.

 _Never, never._ No, Jack would never hurt him on purpose. If it hurt, all Mark had to do was say stop; say “red” and Jack would pull away. Mark _knew_ he would from experience. He could get out. He wouldn't be trapped or forced or ridiculed. “N-no… no. It.. feels kind of good, actually. It's… nice. Like a massage. It feels good on the…” _Scars._ Jack pulling on the mottled skin felt _really_ good; flexing areas which hadn't gotten any attention in months. Mark didn't want to say it, though. No matter how readily Jack accepted their existence, they were _still_ scars and they would never go away.

This time, Jack let his thumb skim down the crack of Mark’s ass. He didn’t press in, he just flirted with the cleft, let him feel it with no pressure. “Does _this_?”

The sensation of Jack’s thumb made Mark shudder, but it didn't trace his crack a second time so he was able to rein it in. **_They_** would tease him, but never for so long. They would have run fingers over the spot several times and then shoved them in just to get the stretching over with. Probably wouldn’t have done it at all if it wasn't for the fact he'd be too tight to get their dicks in otherwise.

Jack was still just holding and petting his ass, though. That was different. That didn't feel… _terrible_. He breathed steadily; face tucked into the spot just under and behind Jack’s ear so he could keep his voice a low whisper. It was easier that way. “...no…. That doesn't hurt. Not anymore. And it doesn't… feel _wrong._ Because it's you. It's just… sensitive. I-it- I'm- I keep waiting… f-for something to happen….” It _always_ did and Mark’s body was conditioned to brace for it, but nothing was coming. It left his skin itching with confusion and uncertainty. ‘ _Where was it? When would it be? Why were_ ** _they_** _dragging it out so long??’_

"Would you like something to happen?" Jack pulled one hand away from Mark's ass to wrap around his back, holding him loosely in one arm as he continued to touch. "I won't hurt you, you know I won't hurt you, but would you like me to touch...

" _There_?" he finally settled on, after seeming to struggle for a proper word. "Show you the difference between us and _them_? Let you feel how good it felt when you did it to me?" He rubbed his chin over Mark’s head before tucking his cheek back against Mark’s dark hair. “You can say no. It’s okay.”

"Y-yellow. Yellow, Jack, I know you won't hurt me. Not on purpose. I know you'd do your best to be careful, Jack, I'm just... scared." Mark's words were breathless as he curled his arms in to tighten around Jack's neck and he buried his face in the close-shaved brown hair at the side of Jack's scalp. It was short and a bit scritchy and felt _perfect_ to him when he kissed the spot with trembling lips. "I'm so scared it'll be just like with them. Just as painful and _bad_ and I don't want to feel dirty and used like that again, Jack. Ever. I don't. I _can't_ not when I'm finally better...." He didn't need Jack to stop, but he couldn't handle Jack delving any deeper. Not right now.

"Then I won't." Jack ran his hand over Mark's ass, skimming over his crack but not stopping, not giving it even an extra second of attention. "I won't. But just trust me when I say that when you touch me there, I don't feel dirty or used. I felt loved, Mark, and cherished, because you were taking such good care of me."

"You did? You're not just saying that, to make me more comfortable, are you?" When Mark had only ever experienced negativity with that aspect of his sexuality, it was difficult to grasp the concept of getting anything positive from it but Jack _had_ seemed to enjoy it when Mark touched him there, even if it was weird at first. Maybe because he loved Mark? Or maybe there was a specific way to make it feel good.

"Why would I do that?" Jack asked softly. "Why would I tell you it felt good if it didn't? Why wouldn't I just stop you and let you go back to something that did feel good?"  
  
"I... I don't know. It's just something my brain does. Questions anything that goes against... what I learned in that room. I'm sorry." Mark knew Jack wasn't accusing him, but he felt the need to apologize anyway because he hated how his mind still doubted Jack sometimes. Jack was the one person he should be able to trust more than anyone else; the person he _did_ trust more than anyone else. Jack would tell him if something was wrong. He'd _promised._ Mark gnawed at his bottom lip and then flinched, hissing. _“Fuck me_ I can't wait ‘til this crap heals. Gah. Fuck.” His arms dropped to loop around Jack's waist while he tongued at the scab on his lip; squeezing him.

  
Jack turned his head a little to brush his lips against Mark's ear. "If you ever make me feel dirty, it's in the very best ways, like when you've got me up against the wall and all I can think of is how you'd feel inside me, and how much I _need_ it..." He huffed a little laugh into Mark's hair. "I have no idea if I'm gayer than I thought I was or if it's just _you_."

"I dunno. We always were pretty gay together, even before things happened...." Mark hid a smile behind Jack's ear; kissed at the shell of it. His next puff of breath was a little shaky. "I love picking you up and pressing against you. I love the sounds you make for me. How you beg for me. It sounds so pretty and I just can't get enough, I need to keep drawing those sounds out of you...." Mark's voice was harsh, low and rumbling as the mental images of past makeout sessions began stirring things hidden beneath the bubbles. He nibbled at the skin behind Jack's ear.

Jack shivered and shifted beneath Mark. "Mm, I think it's no secret that I love it when you make me beg. When you wind me up so tight that I can't, I _can't_..." He curled his fingers, dragging nails lightly up Mark's ass. "I want to turn the tables on you someday. Pin you to the bed and just _ravish_ you with my mouth and hands until _you're_ begging _me_...but I can wait. I _want_ to make you unravel, but I _need_ you to keep holding me like this."

Even with the water, their minute movements created friction between them and Mark's breath hitched; cheeks slowly becoming flushed with a slow burn of growing arousal. His back arched at the drag of nails and he whimpered- half pleasure, half anxiety. It was okay, it was okay, they weren't digging in. Jack wasn't hurting him; there wouldn't even be marks. He almost sunk incisors into his bottom lip again when Jack detailed the little fantasy. Nope, not making that mistake _again._ Knowing how much Jack enjoyed it anyway, Mark decided to bite at his shoulder instead. Now he could actually enjoy the scenario Jack was describing. When it was just words and pictures in his mind, it sounded _wonderful_ , it did, but the thought of acting it out made his stomach clench into dozens of knots.

So he didn't, for now. He just held Jack the way he wanted and gave his hips a little wiggle; obtaining the friction he subtly desired. It took a lot of effort not to moan as he released Jack’s shoulder. "Jack. Jack, can I... I want to try something. I don't know if I can follow through with it, if I start freaking out, but... I want to _try_." His toes curled in the water and he pulled back so he could kiss that beautiful mouth, breaking it only to look imploringly at Jack with big, brown eyes.

"I know. It's okay." Jack ran his fingers down Mark's back soothingly and returned the kiss, spreading his hand over Mark's ass again without the nails. "Try whatever you want. Stop whenever you need. I'm here. I'm right here. If you start freaking out, I'll bring you back." He kissed Mark again. "I love you. I have you."

Mark couldn't find words. He was extremely overwhelmed between his arousal, his desires and Jack's loving assurances. He was almost left breathless by it all, but he knew it was important to breathe. If he breathed, he'd be okay. He only stopped when they shared tender kisses and he leaned in to give Jack another; mouthed a return of "I love you" against his lips. He held there, for a moment, then pulled back- but only a few inches. His head dipped forward to press their foreheads together and he stared into Jack's blue eyes. _Blue_. None of _them_ had blue eyes; talk about a lucky break. "I love you...." he repeated just above a whisper.  
  
One of his hands remained digging into Jack's back like an anchor but the other retracted, tracing feather light fingertips across Jack's hip and thigh. Mark felt the hand reach his own thigh and his breath stuttered. It was embarrassing, but he subtly lifted the hand out of the water- just for a minute- to confirm it was his. It was, so he put it back. Slowly, he wrapped it around his half-hard dick and the pressure pushed out a weak moan. He squeezed, and began to stroke himself beneath all the bubbles. It was his hand, it was okay. "Wh-when I do it, just... nnn... try not to react too strongly, o-okay?? I know it might be hard but it could set me off." Startle him; ruin his focus and shake his resolve. Unsatisfied with the placement of his free hand, he lifted it out of the water so he could cradle the back of Jack's head.

Jack held Mark's gaze, smiling warmly. "I'll try not to." Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let the breath out with a soft murmur, opening his eyes again to look at Mark. "Just tell me if you want anything more." He was still holding Mark with one hand and stroking over his ass with the other.

The corners of Mark's mouth twitched upwards. Of course Jack would try. He was the best partner Mark could ever ask for after all that happened and he gave him another quick peck to show his gratitude and appreciation. "I love you." He could never say it enough. Having grown comfortable with his hand, he released another shuddering breath. "Just... just hold me, and... you can keep doing what you're doing, just don't squeeze too hard or use your nails too much. It... it makes me think of them, so. You can put your hands anywhere, just not where mine are, um... and my hair. Not... not my hair." Mark hated that he had to set boundaries, but it was important to be even more cautious than usual when he tried to take new steps in their sexual relationship. Parameters set, he drew a deep breath.  
  
Mark kept a grip on himself but stopped stroking. With only a slight ripple in the water of warning, he slipped both hand and dick forward. He found Jack's erection faster than he thought he would. He sucked in a tight breath- Jack did too- and stopped again, but didn't pull back. He just let his knuckles and the uppermost part of his dick rest there against Jack's, finally biting his lip. The sting had nothing on his nerves.

Jack bit his lip as well, breathing shallowly through his nose. Then he was... giggling? Jack was giggling. Why was Jack giggling? Did it tickle? It didn’t tickle for Mark, but maybe Jack was- "God, I'm sorry, I'm such an immature..." Jack sagged forward, pressing his forehead against Mark's shoulder and hugging him as his own shoulders quivered. "That's so _gay_ , Mark...." Oh. Jack answered the silent question himself and Mark blinked. He hadn't even thought about it; too caught up in his breathing, his focus on Jack, doing his best not to freak out the second they touched heads (their other heads). Jack was giggling breathlessly against his shoulder and hugging him in a bathtub with far too many bubbles and they were both naked. _Their dicks were touching_.  
  
Mark sputtered softly. For all his anxiety and fear, the situation spoke to a very immature part of himself as well; the part which always loved making dick jokes. It was one thing Jack and himself (along with Bob and Wade) connected on: penis humor. Now they were doing it again, and it had Mark cracking up too. "Oh my god Jack, you're right, it _is_ gay. Oh shit, I h-hope this doesn't mean _we're_ gay. Quick- n-no homo, bro." Mark couldn't take it. He was laughing even harder against Jack; face buried in green hair. He'd entirely forgotten his nerves.

"No homo, Mark, no homo! We're just friends, best friends, this is totally what bros do when they're visiting each other..." Jack giggled harder, the bubbles sloshing around them as their bodies shook with laughter and _oh_ , that rubbed their dicks together and Jack's giggles choked into a moan at the friction. "God, I love you Mark..."

Mark mimicked the sound and flushed. So much for "no homo." There was probably some kind of irony to their brief back and forth but he was too preoccupied to figure it out. He tangled his fingers into the back of Jack's green hair. "I love you so much, Sean. Let me... let me show you...." Seriously, this time, much as Mark _had_ needed that.  
  
He composed himself and set his breathing back on track. Now that they were touching, it was easier. Mark could just pretend it was his own dick he was touching. He took a "leap of faith" and let go for a moment, then quickly wrapped his hand around a dick again- but this time, it was Jack's. He knew it was Jack's, because he only felt a slight friction; but he could pretend it was his. He gently squeezed, voice a low, rumbling whisper in Jack's ear. "Can you feel me?"

Jack's answer was another moan. He gave a shaky nod, all the muscles of his legs tense. "J-just...be gentle," Jack whispered against Mark's skin. "Still sore..."

"Oh. Right. Right, sorry." Without seeing Jack's dick, Mark had almost forgotten it was bruised. After what they'd done just last night... it was a pleasant memory, but he needed to focus on the now. He was holding Jack's dick, but Jack wasn't making him- wasn't even rolling his hips. It was Mark's choice and he could stop at any time. Get out of the tub and away from Jack without consequence. The only person keeping him here, like this, _doing_ this was himself. Agonizingly slow and with a furrowed brow, Mark began sliding his hand up and down Jack's shaft. It wasn't identical to his, but not all that different, either. Mark couldn't help but feel just a little smug.  
  
"I think mine's bigger." A giggle danced around the edge of his words and he pressed a kiss to Jack's ear while he continued gently running his hand along Jack's dick. He felt around the swollen head with his fingertips and tucked beneath once to feel Jack's balls. He was flushed down to his collarbone and almost wished he could _see_ it; see Jack while he explored and fondled him. It was a completely new interaction for Mark. _They_ had never let him be so cautious, so gentle, so slow. _They_ never let him take his time- not that he'd wanted to with them. "...I'm... I'm okay. I'm okay, Jack, are you okay? Do I need to stop?" Mark had been staring down at the bubbles as if he could see through them like Superman, but now he looked back up to Jack and tried to read his face for any signs of discomfort or pain.

Jack groaned deeply. He gasped and panted, mouth hanging open and fingers scraping across Mark’s back.

Mark may not have been touching himself anymore, but Jack’s sounds were plenty to keep him rock hard beneath the surface of the water. Everywhere Jack’s hands scraped felt searing on his skin, lighting up nerves and raising gooseflesh where the water didn’t cover. He let Jack act out in these ways because he was doing such a good job at controlling his hips; his groin. He wasn’t allowing more than a consistent twitch into Mark’s hand and he couldn’t be more grateful for it. He conveyed it through scattered kisses along the side of Jack’s head and ear.

Jack pulled his other hand up to Mark’s waist even as a desperate whine bubbled up from Jack’s throat. “Mark...Mark, can I...can I touch your hand? Just for a minute, to show…?”

By the time Jack finally spoke up, Mark was able to gently stroke him at an even pace. He knew all the details and differences by touch now and probably wouldn’t even have to look in the future, which could prove to be stupidly helpful. For now, he dragged his lips along the ridge of Jack’s brow; skimming across a temple lightly beaded with sweat. He let his hand draw to a stop at Jack’s base and huffed a soft breath into green locks. “...yeah. Yeah, you can show me how you like it. Just… be gentle, and slow about it…. Not that I need to tell you ‘cause of, y’know. But still. Don’t… don’t push me, or anything. Okay? I want to know how to make you feel good. But they… they wanted me to know too, and this… it… it’s not far off from something they’ve done, so… we just need to be careful. Okay? I trust you, but I might… be tense, at first. I just wanted you to know.” He pulled back to look into blue eyes again, dragging his free hand around so he could cup Jack’s cheek in his palm. “I love you.”

Jack pulled away from Mark’s shoulder so he could kiss him, returning the sentiment with lips and tongue. “You’re doing great,” he said. “Just...just wanted to let you know the pressure…” He pulled his hand away from the small of Mark’s back, moving it slowly through the water to first touch Mark’s hand, then curl his fingers around Mark’s. He squeezed gently, tightening Mark’s grip slowly. “This...this is okay. And this...ah, but that,” Jack immediately loosened his hand, “that’s where it starts being more hurty than happy.”

Mark’s fingers twitched at Jack’s touch, and he _did_ tense up when the hand initially covered his own. He had to take several deep breaths and stare Jack full in the face to stop himself from imagining _them_ and _their hands_ showing him how it was done; how to please another man. Mark’s eyes roved over Jack’s face more than once to soak in every last detail as if his life depended on it. Jack wasn’t showing him _anything,_ just how hard he could squeeze. That was it and it was only because of the bruises; bruises Jack got from another man abusing him. Just like Mark.

Explanation over, Jack slid his hand back to Mark’s back and kissed his cheek, his jaw, pressed his lips beneath Mark’s ear and sucked gently on the skin there. “Ordinarily, I’d like it a _little_ tighter, but… You still good?”

Jack was safe. Jack was _safe._ Mark released the breath he’d been holding and relaxed further when Jack’s hand returned to his back. He couldn’t see Jack’s face when he moved in to create a trail of kisses, but that was okay. Only Jack would kiss him like this; would leave such soft, sweet marks on his skin just to make him feel good. There before him, all he saw, felt and smelled was Jack and Irish curled into his ear while he traced fingernails down along the curve of Jack’s spine. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m good. I’m… I’m gonna try something else, now that… now that you showed me how hard I can squeeze. Okay? I promise I’ll be careful. But if I hurt you, just say the word. And I’ll stop. You get the same outs that I do. All right?” Mark let his nose drag along the split in Jack’s hair between brown and green; affectionately nuzzling the spot.

Jack stroked his fingers up and down Mark’s back, petting the tension out of his muscles in a gentler version of the massage Mark had given him. His head came to rest on Mark’s shoulder again, sighing as Mark sat on his lap and just held him; both with his hand on Jack’s back and his hand holding Jack’s erection. “Mm. It’s only fair now. I love you.” He kissed Mark’s skin beneath his lips and tightened his arms. “I love this. We need to do this more often.”

“I love you too.” Mark murmured while he tightened his one-armed grip as well. He let his fingernails bite lightly into the skin just beside Jack’s spine because he _knew_ Jack liked it. “I think I could manage that. I was never really into baths, but I think… I could really get used to taking them. If I’m with you.” He gave Jack a small stroke. “If we can do this.” Mark pressed his cheek to Jack’s hair and sighed from his nose. There was just something about being in a warm, bubbly bath that made it all less scary. Maybe because there _were_ no baths in the room, or anything remotely akin to normal bathing. That made it pretty hard to disassociate with the situation.

He stroked Jack again. Carefully, he tugged his lover’s erection back over to his own. They brushed each other beneath the water and triggered shivers to cascade down Mark’s back. He sucked in a breath; holding it and their dicks there, just like that. Then he released it, and in the same motion opened his hand. He spread his fingers so the appendage was touching both of them at the same time, which was a little weird. Mark hadn’t experienced this before, but he’d been doing some research on various things male couples could do with sex. Things _they_ hadn’t done, which would be safer to try. This was way too “gay” for **_them_** , but Mark thought it felt pretty damn good once he closed his hand around both of their shafts. They were forced together by the action and he clenched his jaw at the immediate jolt of pleasure shooting into his lower stomach. _“Ah-”_ His hips twitched forward, dick shifting and sliding against Jack’s. Mark whined softly. He hadn’t even _moved his hand yet._ “Oh _fuck._ ”

Jack groaned, clinging to Mark as his own hips rocked once, biting deep into his lip afterwards. “Sweet Jesus, Mark, _yesss…_ ” The word hissed out between Jack’s teeth, and he trembled in Mark’s arms.

“ _Shit,_ fuck, Jack, _Jack…._ ” Mark gasped softly as Jack’s minute lapse in control sent sparks of sensation dancing along both their dicks. He rocked back in turn, building on it, and let loose another whine. Mark _still_ hadn’t moved his hand. All the friction they were getting was simply from their own natural movements and it was _perfect._ Mark had been concerned he would need to experiment with stroking them both at the same time, but like this he just had to make sure they stayed together. No big deal at all and he gasped again as he gave another slow roll of his hips, since he had a bit more leverage than Jack by sitting in the other’s lap. It was _delicious._

“Jack, Jack, Jack… mnnghnn, _Jack,_ y-you… you can move. You can _move,_ just go slow, please go slow oh god I don’t wanna lose it now. I don’t wanna get scared and stop this feels so good, Jack, _you’re_ so good. Please, please just hold out for me a little longer baby _please._ ” Mark _liked_ the friction. He wanted more of it, but if Jack started pounding away in his hand he could lose his grip (literally and metaphorically). Just because something was successful _so far,_ that didn’t mean they could just throw caution to the wind. Mark would be _damned_ if anything triggered him now.

“Fucking hell…” Jack whispered. He shifted his hands to Mark’s hips, holding him steady on top of Jack’s legs, and lifted his head so he could kiss him again. He didn’t release his control, not yet. First he just kissed Mark, licking into his mouth as he held his hips loosely, gasping with every slide of Mark’s erection against his.

Mark melted into a simpering pile of goo. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been longing for a kiss and Jack read his mind. He could kiss his boyfriend _all day_ and never get enough of those lips or tongue (god _damn_ that devilish tongue). He moaned into Jack’s mouth, still giving shallow thrusts, and dragged his own tongue along the front row of Jack’s teeth. The scraping sensation had him shivering all over again even after they pulled apart and Mark panted. “Jack….” he groaned. His heart was aching in the best possible way.

“I love you, I love you Mark, I love you so much…” Jack peppered Mark’s face with little kisses to punctuate every declaration of love he offered. His muscles still trembled as he relaxed his control, rocking shallowly up against Mark. Mark’s fingers were still wrapped around their dicks, not squeezing, just holding and Jack pulled back from Mark’s face.

Mark felt it: movement not caused by himself. It was slow and short but Mark could notice the difference. He went still for half a beat before rocking his hips again; stubbornly. He knew if he stopped to focus on Jack he’d lose his momentum. He’d fall out of the moment he’d worked so hard to craft and Mark wouldn’t allow it, _not today._ Not after what they’d been through and accomplished- together. He moved in tandem with Jack and tried to focus on the pleasure racing through him with each wet grind and bump. He had no doubts he was leaking precum by now as his low pitched moans reverberated off the bathroom walls.

He knew Jack was looking at him, though. It was hard for Mark to meet his eyes when all he wanted to do was toss his head back, but he managed. He stared into lusty, concerned blues and tried to convey he was okay. Tense and a little on-edge, but _okay._ Mark gave a particularly strong thrust as his free hand returned to cradling Jack’s jaw. The stuttering keen his action triggered was half-stifled when he kissed his boyfriend once more. It was deep and needy and more than a few seconds before he pulled away again. Their foreheads were almost touching. “I. _Love._ ** _You,_** ” he breathed. “ ** _You,_** Sean McLoughlin. No one else.”

Jack panted against Mark’s cheek as he held him, clutching at wet skin and sliding up into Mark’s fingers, against his erection. “Mark...Mark…” Jack’s eyes squeezed shut as he strained beneath Mark’s legs. He reached up, dragging his fingers away from Mark’s back to catch his face and pull him back into another kiss _._

“Jaaaaack….” Mark groaned; low and deep. His eyelids hung heavy, but he forced them to stay open. It was too risky to close them; made it easy for his brain to conjure up false images. He clenched his jaw and sucked in quick breaths through his teeth. “Nnnghhnnn….” The combination grunt and whine rapidly became swallowed up by Jack’s kiss and Mark lost all track of his breathing by that point, but his thought process was going as well. He was too sucked into his pleasure, Jack’s mouth and hands, the warm water still lapping steadily at their naked bodies for his brain to take advantage. There was no slipping away or going back now unless one of them did something stupid.

He tilted his head, avoiding Jack’s bruises and deepening their kiss, pushing his tongue between eager lips to find Jack's. No man had ever kissed him like this; only Jack. Only Jack made him feel this way: pleasured, but happy. Mark was practically giddy and swooning as he rolled head-over-heels towards orgasm. His measured thrusts had devolved to something more desperate and primal; Jack’s were subdued, but not too far behind. It was all Mark could do just to hold onto their slippery shafts. His muffled moans escalated in pitch and volume while he raked fingers through Jack’s hair. He pulled back to murmur one or two words at a time between tender, sloppy kisses. “Jack. Jack I'm. I'm gonna go. I'm gonna. You can. You too. Whenever. Jack. _Jack._ ** _Sean._** ”

“I want you to,” Jack mumbled against Mark’s mouth. He rocked up against Mark, pressing his fingers through Mark’s beard and across his neck. Jack slid his hands down to grip and squeeze at the curve of muscle that made up Mark’s shoulders, but his hands kept his moving down, down Mark’s back, trailing nails lightly near Mark’s spine until he found the swell of Mark’s ass again and he curled his fingers against Mark’s skin. “Mark, I want you, I want…” Jack kissed Mark again, pressing up into his mouth and his hand.

Mark’s body eagerly leaned into the descent of Jack’s hands. He arched and curved and continued to rock his hips even as he felt them settle on his ass, as he felt them lightly cup and grip at the skin. It felt good; it did. He was too far gone to think about connotations or what Jack could do, what he might be planning. There were just Jack’s hands on his ass, and his hand on their dicks. Jack was coiling up tighter and tighter beneath him and Mark couldn’t wait to watch him unravel; to feel him come loose in his hand. He’d never felt that way for _them,_ not even when he was drugged and forcefully aroused. All he felt was disgust and shame.

In contrast, all he felt now was love and acceptance. Mark swallowed up Jack’s kiss like it was his oxygen and whimpered at another particularly strong thrust on his end. His fingers tightened their grip on Jack’s hair, pulling his face closer and holding him still as Mark pushed and pushed and _pushed_ with his hips. He teetered on the edge, breathing almost painfully heavy into Jack’s open mouth as he squeezed a little harder at their dicks. Mark came on his next thrust with a keen that was all for Jack; entirely absorbed by his lover into his mouth and bones while Mark’s thrummed with the achievement of his release. It was the best orgasm he’d experienced yet, somehow managing to top what they accomplished last night. Mark’s body shuddered and spasmed against Jack’s until he was left a drained, jelly-like heap in his boyfriend’s lap.

Mark was in a floaty, happy headspace by then. He’d scarcely noticed Jack gripping at his ass to drag him forward or cumming while he worked on catching his breath, which was probably for the best. However, he felt when Jack began to lean back, and quickly removed his hand from between them so it wouldn’t get pinned down by his own weight. One arm was still curled up around Jack’s neck and head; he let the other slot in against a narrow chest and shoulder. Their legs were messily intertwined at the other end of the tub and Jack still had hands on his ass, but they’d lightened up their grip so Mark didn’t mind. It felt nice being held.

“Never let go…” Jack whispered, ending with a breathless laugh huffed against Mark’s cheek.

Mark gained more clarity of thought as he spiraled lazily down from his high and was able to tuck his head up beneath Jack’s chin, resting his cheek against a sharp collar bone. Mark’s eyes felt heavy; his body warm. He was utterly content and spent where he lay snug against Jack in the bathtub but then those three little words were whispered into his hair and Mark’s eyes opened wider. “Did you really just-” Mark wheezed out a breathless laugh himself. “Oh my _god,_ Jack, that’s _my_ line you absolute _dweeb._ We just came in each others’ laps and that’s the first thing you say to me. _Our dicks were touching, Jack._ ” He paused. “...they _still are._ ”

“And what very nice dicks they are too,” Jack murmured, giving his hips a little wiggle so their dicks brushed against each other. “Mm, yes, tenouttaten, best dicks.” Jack’s hands smoothed over Mark’s ass. “You could’ve threatened me with a goat, you know.”

“Loser….” It came out as a feather light, breathy moan though due to Jack’s wiggling. Mark wasn’t about to get another erection but he was still _very_ sensitive from his orgasm. He gave his leg muscles a little stretch and flexed his toes where they poked up above the surface. “You sound so gay right now… feelin’ me up like a total homo… should be absolutely ashamed of yourself….” His words were a slow drawl due to the fatigue which had settled across his mind and bones. They’d had a long two days together and Mark belatedly realized all the self-control he’d been exerting in the bath had exhausted his remaining reserves. He just wanted to sleep. “You wouldn’t have taken the goat as a threat and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, you're soaking in cum-soup,” Jack murmured. “Ew. Gay.”

“...see, you go and say stuff like that, and _now_ I wanna get out. Dammit, Jack.” Mark’s nose scrunched up with the realization. Why did Jack have to point out the fact their jizz was still floating around in the tub with them? _Eugh._ Mark might need to shower afterwards because no amount of soap was going to make that any less gross.

Jack sighed. “I wish we could sleep like this,” he admitted to Mark. “Not in the tub, but… I love you. I love that I can hold you.”

Mark burbled quietly and rubbed his stubbled cheek against Jack’s smooth skin. The hand curled around Jack’s neck stretched out so he could run his thumb along the shell of an ear and he was ready to agree about falling asleep all cuddled up in the tub, but then Jack explained further. Mark blinked some renewed clarity back into his thoughts. Oh. _Oh._ He wondered if Jack could feel his face heat up as Mark ducked his head. “...sorry…. I know how much you like cuddling and stuff, and this does feel really nice. But I don’t… I don’t know if I could do it yet, in a bed. It’s all the padding. It’s too easy to go back…. In the bath, it’s harder. Possibly the hardest. They _never_ bathed me.” Power hoses and buckets didn’t count. Mark burrowed deeper beneath the bubbles as if to better relish the sensation and hid his mouth against Jack’s chest while he peered up at the Irishman with his warm, brown eyes. Chica had learned her puppy look from the best of them. “I love you.”

Jack ran his fingers up Mark's back, stroking each vertebrae and closing his eyes. “God, don't look at me like that, Mark. I'll just jump you again.” His hand tentatively skimmed up the back of Mark's head, petting his hair lightly.

Mark couldn’t stay agitated. Not when there were fingers counting their way up his vertebrae. He’d probably be purring, if he was a cat. It was a pleasant sensation. “Then don’t make me look at you like that. Not my fault you’re weak.” Said the guy who gave a light flinch in response to a simple hair pet. Mark didn’t really care if it was an improvement. He should long be over that particular sensitivity, but sometimes it still managed to startle him, no matter who did it or how good it felt.

“I'm okay with not having this in a bed, Mark. I'd love to, but you know I don't _need_ it.” Jack traced his finger over the shell of Mark's ear and gave a sigh that was half content, half frustration. “There's so _much_ I'd love to do with you. It's ridiculously selfish of me. Every time we push a little further, I just want _more_. But Mark, I _don't need it_. I swear.”

Mark stuffed his face back into Jack’s chest with an irritated grunt- directed at _himself,_ not Jack. They were both frustrated. They both understood and didn’t let it seriously get to them, however, that didn’t mean the emotion went away. It chipped and fractured whenever they made even an ounce of progress, as they had the past two days now, but still it lingered. Still they were forced to be cautious and abide by Mark’s limitations. The fact he flinched from Jack showcased that much. Mark whined a little and didn’t care if he sounded childish. “I keep trying to push because I want more too. Or part of me does. But it’s hard.”

“Do… Would it help if I pushed you some?” Jack waited until Mark had relaxed to resume the gentle stroking of his hair. “Not force you into anything, but...ask for more?”

Mark shivered at first and was noticeably more tense than before. His mind and body were putting up red flags; telling him to brace for the moment fingers would stop being gentle. For when they would grip and tug and pull but Jack kept petting, and none of that came close to happening. Mark was able to shift gears onto how _good_ it felt and slowly, he relaxed further. No longer hyper-focused on the hand in his hair, he was able to register and process Jack’s words. He ended up thinking on them for a good minute or two at least; expression slightly zoned and muscles loose while Jack stroked his hair.

“...I think… maybe…. I’m not… I’m not as jumpy, as I used to be. I’ve improved a lot. Even when you surprise me, it’s usually not so bad.” Like with the hair. Months ago, if Jack had done that, Mark would have fled from the tub. Hell, Mark wouldn’t have even _been in_ the tub. He snuggled a bit closer to Jack. “I’m not the best at guessing what you want, unless it’s obvious. If you asked me for stuff… told me what you needed… I wouldn’t have to come up with ideas. Or things to try. I’d… have options. I’d _still_ have options, Jack, you’d just… give me more of them.” He affectionately nuzzled at his boyfriend’s chest again.

“We could even try now,” Jack suggested. “We both could use a shower...We could try together?” Still naked and wet, warm and together, but without the cover of bubbles. It would be another step forward.

Mark’s next exhale was a little shaky. “...we can try. I’d like to try. I don’t know if it’ll be as successful. We’d have to start slow. I’d need… if you could not look at me, at first. Not touch… I might not be able to look at you, either. But I’d… I’d need to initiate pretty much everything. That’s all I can think of.” Cuddling with Jack in a tub full of warm bubbles was a stark contrast to standing in a confined space with Jack beneath a hot spray of water.

“We don't have to do it right away.” Jack lifted his other hand to scoop some bubbles off the top of the foam and blew them at Mark. “We still have a lot of bubbles left, and the water is still warm. Ish. _You're_ warm. But then after the shower, we can reward ourselves by climbing into bed together. Dressed.” Jack twirled a lock of Mark's hair around a finger before resuming his gentle petting. “And you get to direct the action. Sound doable?”

Mark’s nose scrunched up again. He puffed out a few breaths of his own to disperse the ticklish bubbles from his face and settled back against Jack, only shivering when his hair was twirled because it was a different sensation. The kidnappers had never done _that._ Why would they? Even so, Mark preferred the petting. He enjoyed the fact his brain was stuck with accepting it was Jack’s hand touching him. Anywhere outside the tub and they might have had a problem.

Yet the water was warm(ish) and Jack was warmer still beneath him. Their chests rose and fell in a near sync which suited the messy tangle of their bodies. He was relaxed and content being buried deeper against Jack than he’d ever managed before. Quietly, his trapped arm shifted so he could lightly drag his fingers along the fringe of Jack’s hair. It was only fair, and he _liked_ playing with his boyfriend’s hair. “Yeah… yeah, I think we can try that…. If I freak out, we’ll just… stop. And take turns. It’ll be okay.”

“Exactly,” Jack said, closing his eyes and leaning into Mark’s caress. “If it’s too much, I turn around and you can get out and get dressed. We can make it work.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Mark’s hair.

“We always do….” It was not only a statement of fact, but a pleasant thought. A reassurance that even if their ideas went absolutely haywire they could always repair the damage. They’d been through the worst of Hell several times now, together, and nothing was going to stand in their way. Not even the past rearing his ugly, fat head.

“Thank you for this bath,” Jack murmured into Mark’s hair. “I _am_ feeling better. Might need to wait until I’m back in Ireland before my dick finally heals…”

Mark hummed out a content sound. Jack’s lips on his hair was nice. He was relieved he could tolerate hands in his hair again, though so far the privilege was solely restricted to Jack. He was settling back into a sleepy state but tried to keep up with Jack anyway because the things being said were _important._ “‘M glad…. Wanna do anything I can to help you…. Sorry about your dick. I try to be gentle but…” Bruising was bruising, they should really quit messing with it and making it swell up. That _couldn’t_ be good for the healing process. Mark might have offered to kiss it better, but abstained for obvious reasons.

Jack shook his head, wrapping his free arm around Mark’s back, squeezing him gently. “Don’t worry about it. I only get you for a few more days. It’s not like it _hurts_ , it’s just a bit achey. And it’s really gross colors, but my legs are worse.” He pressed his cheek into Mark’s hair again.

Mark pressed his mouth back into the outline of Jack’s collar bones; an area he knew well which was still spotted with some bruises from their last bout of sexual activity. Like this, he could taste and feel and _smell_ Jack without needing to see his expression. Without placing a broken face to those tight, strained words. Mark knew Jack well enough by now to tell when he was getting upset (unless Mark was upset, of course) and he didn't even have to wonder why. Jack’s words had said it all.

He gently kneaded at Jack’s shoulder with the hand not pinned by his boyfriend’s neck. Mark had been trying not to think about it: Jack going back to Ireland. The thought of missing such an important extension of himself for another undetermined amount of time almost made him nauseous; made his chest tight and his heart ache from the pressure. He knew Jack was feeling the same- if not worse, for lack of company. Mark missed their little cottage by the river, but he missed Jack _more._ “...I wish you didn't have to go….”

“Me too,” Jack admitted softly. “And I...You know I’ve been looking into immigration rules to move out here. I mean, you’ve done it, you’ve gone back to life on your own. You can sleep alone. That was the whole reason why I went back the first time. So moving out here would be because we both wanted it, and not because I was just a crutch. But…”

Jack was struggling to keep his breathing calm. Mark was tucked against his chest, so he could feel everything. “I know I said last time that I wanted to… but Ireland’s my _home_. I can’t just… I want to, I love you, don’t get me wrong, but… my whole family’s over there, and I love them too, and…”

Mark released Jack’s shoulder and wriggled his arm until it could snake behind the Irishman’s neck with its partner. He squeezed at Jack like that in the best semblance of a hug he could manage in their current position. “I know. I know it is, Jack. I understand. It's got nothing to do with me. I wouldn't… I wouldn't ask you to abandon everything just for me.” Jack wouldn't ask that of Mark, and Mark knew if Jack moved to L.A. with him permanently, there'd be a constant shadow over his happiness- over _their_ happiness. Mark wouldn't allow that. Still…

He sighed and did his damned best to burrow deeper into his boyfriend. With water between them it was easier to deal with the skin-on-skin contact; there wasn't as much friction. “I just wish there was a way we could see each other more…. Like for extended periods. Living together is… it's something I want more than anything. But I don't know how we could do it….” Mark puffed out a warm, frustrated breath against Jack’s skin.

“Even if I did want to be over here permanently, it’d be next to impossible,” Jack said. His voice was choked up and thick against Mark’s hair. “I... _did_ look into all kinds of visas and stuff. I’d need to get a job over here, with a company that would sponsor me. Self-employed doesn’t cut it. Or I’d need to marry an American...and I don’t think we’re anywhere near that discussion. The most I could stay without a visa is six months out of the year. And I dunno, maybe I could pull that off, but I’d need to have two setups and...and it’s still six months without you.”

Six months. Six months sounded _amazing._ Six months was so much better than what they had now, but Mark wasn’t an optimist. Six months straight _without_ Jack- barring conventions- would be _Hell._ Mark could barely stand going a couple months without getting to touch Jack again; having the opportunity to be held in lanky arms and drown each other in too many kisses. He had Chica, he had his friends, but it just wasn't the same. _Nothing_ could replace Jack, but he could only stay for six months…

“Hold the phone.” Tension returned to Mark’s body, but only because he was stirring. He tugged at his arms to pull himself up some and looked at Jack with a curious, hopeful expression. Jack loosened his hold on Mark, lifting his head away from Mark’s hair to meet brown eyes as Mark pushed himself up.

Silently, Mark thanked his stupid brain, because it could make some real too-obvious-to-be-noticed connections sometimes. Or maybe Jack _had_ thought of it, and simply didn't want to ask something so serious of Mark. That wouldn't surprise him. Too bad for the Irishman he came to the conclusion himself. “Six months. That's half a year you'd be here, with me. That I'd be here. You'd need to go back for the other six… what if I went with you?”

“Why would you want to come to Ireland?” Jack asked. “There’s _nothing_ there, you’ve seen that for yourself. All the YouTube stuff is here in L.A.” He stared at Mark. “...what about Chica?”

“Why would I-” Mark sputtered at Jack as if he'd just asked the most ridiculous question he'd ever heard; and he'd gotten some silly ones in the past. “Jack, first of all, there's _you_ in Ireland. That's already more than enough reason. But… I also like it there. I mean, it's kind of a second home to me. I spent _months_ there, Jack. Months of recovery in that cottage- _our cottage._ I got used to the environment. The atmosphere. I got used to stupid Irish food and hearing everyone talk like you. I got used to snuggling up with you on rainy days and working in the garden. God, I miss our garden. Chica does too. She has more space where I live now but it's not the same. Stupid as it sounds, there's just something… well, _magical_ about that place. Where we lived, and where I got better. It means something to me now. So what if L.A. has all the big YouTube connections? I'll have that for six months. And I'd rather have you than a prime location any day. You can YouTube _anywhere_ , Jack. But I can't cuddle with my boyfriend unless he's there.”

Jack was flushed, and Mark dropped his head so he could mush his cheek up against Jack’s chest again. He'd gone on a bit of a ramble but he'd certainly gotten his point across. If Jack still doubted he'd _like_ spending time in Ireland then he was at a loss. “Chica could come. Tom said she didn't do too bad on the flight over, and she was okay when we came back. She could get used to it. Might not even need a sedative after enough trips. People take their dogs around the world with them all the time. And I couldn't just leave her here. She'd miss us too much- she already misses _you_.”

Jack folded his arms around Mark and held him tight. “That would be _perfect_ ,” he whispered. “Six months here, six months there...we could maybe even work out the timing so we’re here for conventions and don’t have to do trans-Atlantic flights, because those _suck_ , so that would be summer over here, so your birthday, so you could be with friends and family, and then winter would be over there, so _my_ birthday…”

“See? It all works out. It’s _perfect._ I can stand being away from home for a few months if I’ve got you, and Chica…. If it means we can go back to our silly little cottage and get away from the crazy outside world for a while…. And with my new house, L.A. won’t be so overwhelming for you. I can introduce you to it at your own pace. It’ll be great. You’ll be here to do collabs with Bob and Wade and the Grumps and all kinds of YouTubers. Opportunities you never had before. It’ll be so awesome…. I wish I’d thought of this sooner….” Mark’s arms were getting chilled so he wriggled them back out from behind Jack’s neck and they sunk into the lukewarm bathwater alongside a relieved sigh. They set to squirming again until Mark could secure both limbs around Jack’s waist. _Better._

Jack pressed a kiss to the top of  Mark’s head. “I love you, Mark. So much.”

“Love you, Jack. We can look more into this later… before you leave. It might not be easy to sort out, but… we can do it. After all the other things we did, we can do this. And then we won’t have to be apart anymore.” That was all Mark wanted, to have his boyfriend close at hand. Jack supplied a peace of mind that went deeper than their relationship and even if Mark wasn’t so reliant on it anymore, he still longed for that stability.

Jack held Mark, humming happily into his hair. Eventually, he gave a little shiver and nudged Mark in the side. “We should probably do that shower now,” he murmured. “I could use some hot water again. How do you want to do this?”

Mark had nearly dozed off when Jack gave him the nudge and he stirred with a sleepy grumble and a broad yawn. It was difficult to tell if the wetness on Jack’s chest was water or Mark’s drool, but the American peeled his face from his boyfriend either way; pushing onto hands and knees. He was awkwardly straddling Jack’s gangly limbs in the narrow tub but there were still enough bubbles present to cover up any anxiety-inducing bits. A shower sounded _heavenly;_ showering _with his boyfriend_ even moreso but there were his limitations to take into consideration. They were doing far too well for any recklessness to ruin it now.

He sat back on his knees and toes so he could run a hand through his damp hair, and there was a sigh at the edge of his words. “I think… I think if I get out, and close the shower curtain, I can wait out there okay while you drain the tub and set up the shower. Once you’re settled again I can come back in…. That way, I’m the one initiating. Everything I do will be because I _want_ to do it. And… and maybe, if I get comfortable enough, we can look at each other. Or touch. But at first, we can’t. We _can’t,_ or my hold on it might slip and I’ll panic. This is… it’s a lot different from _this._ I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense. But…” Mark bit his lip. He always felt like he was asking for so much from Jack during times like this. It killed him that he couldn’t just freely experiment with every little whim like most people, that Jack had to walk on eggshells. A fresh apology lingered on the tip of his tongue as he stared at the smooth planes of Jack’s chest.

“You’re in charge,” Jack said, grabbing the edges of the bath and pulling himself into more of a sitting position. He reached up for Mark, drawing him down into a gentle kiss. “I’ll look away. Make sure there are plenty of towels and stuff around outside in case we need to abandon shower in a hurry?”

“Yeah… yeah, good idea.” The task would also help to keep Mark’s buzzing mind occupied. He let himself sink back into Jack’s lips for a moment, then a second, but they’d put off the shower long enough. He didn’t even want to _think_ about how long they’d both been soaking in watered down spunk. **_Eugh._**

After stealing one last kiss, Jack scooted himself away from Mark and turned around so his back was to him. It was all the more motivation for Mark to heave himself out of the tub and he trusted Jack not to sneak any peeks, but still closed the curtain behind him once he was on the bath mat. Immediately, some of the tension released from his chest and he let loose a shallow exhale. So far, so good. “I’m okay. Go ahead and switch things over in there.”

Though he knew he was going to get wet again, Mark wrapped himself up in a warm and fluffy towel anyway. Lingering around naked just took him back to that room. Towels pulled him back to the present, because they’d _never_ given him even a scrap of one and he burrowed down into the soft material with a happy sound. Once he heard water draining from the tub, he set about gathering all the towels close to it- even the small ones, just in case. Mark also made sure their respective sleepwear was close. That way, if Mark went running out of the bathroom, he could snatch up his clothes and glasses on the way. “Just lemme know when you’re good to go.”

A minute or two later, Jack spoke up. “Okay,” he called to Mark. “I’m in the back of the tub, facing away from the shower, so...come in whenever. And I promise, I don’t hurt nearly as bad as I look like I should.”

“All right, I’m coming in.” Mark grudgingly let the towel fall from his shoulders. He folded it up and set it with the others since it was mostly just damp, a shiver already starting up in his muscles. It was too cold in their hotel room. At least too cold to be naked, anyway. Mark was eager to get under the hot spray and warm up again. However, with that comfort came a naked Jack. A naked Jack _not_ half-covered by bubbles. One stray glance was all it would take to see possibly triggering body parts but Mark felt silly about the disparity. If anything, _touching_ Jack’s dick should have been more of a threat than just _seeing_ it. He supposed it was easier to think of other things when the object of his trauma wasn’t in plain sight.

Mark realized he’d been standing there, just thinking, for nearly half a minute after telling Jack he was coming in and he grimaced. “Sorry, zoned out a little. I’m coming in.” Hopefully Jack wouldn’t be too worried. Mark took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and slipped into the shower at the front. Hot water immediately drenched him all over again and he sighed at the sweet relief. “Ohhhh yeah… that’s the stuff….”

For a few moments, he was too busy reveling in the warmth to think about Jack, but the body in his peripheral and the sound of breathing that wasn’t his own drew him back to the reality of the situation. Mark could feel tension trickling into his muscles as he sucked in a more anxious breath. He wasn’t alone. He was naked, but he _wasn’t alone._ That sense of exposure and vulnerability creeped up the back of his brain like dozens of little spiders. They dug in their fangs; coaxing him to cover up, to panic, to _get the Hell out_ Mark, idiot, it’s not safe!! Mark turned and forced his eyes to stay up; to focus on the shock of green. His eyes longed to dip down the elegant slopes and curves of Jack’s pale body but he resisted. Panting shakily as he tried to avoid any chance of hyperventilating, Mark took a step closer. “Jack….”

“It's okay, Mark.” Jack curled his arms over his chest. “It's just me. You're safe…”

Jack lifted his head sharply. “Mark, I need to turn around, I need to, I need...I can't have you behind me right now, I need to turn around..."

Mark paused out of pure surprise when Jack spoke up again; his voice anything but reassuring. It was strained and tense and he’d noticed the same tension spread more subtly across the stretch of pale shoulders. Even if he wasn’t _trying_ to look, his peripheral had a complete mind of its own. What truly startled Mark was how he recognized Jack’s tone. The sudden panic lingering just beneath the forced composure of his voice was something Mark had heard thousands of times before.

It had just been in his own.

“ _Mark_ …”

Jack was starting to _panic._ Something had caused his anxiety to spike. He claimed he needed to turn around and Mark took a step back. “Jack?” Mark was still uncomfortable and wary, but seeing Jack starting to fray at the edges gave him a distraction. His concern clawed its way up past his fear with a vengeance. Backing up alone wouldn’t help this. Leaving the shower might, but that defeated the entire point. How ironic it was _Jack’s_ emotions threatening their little experiment. Mark clenched his fists at his sides and breathed. “...okay. Okay. You can turn around, just.. eye contact. Okay? You _can’t_ look down Jack, please.” Mark’s mind was racing and in the moment it didn’t matter _why_ Jack felt this way. They could discuss it once he’d calmed down, just like with Mark.

Jack turned around quickly, before even confirming eye contact. His body was shaking with little tremors and his eyes were wide, showing just how close he was to a breakdown. He still managed to nod and swallow and offered Mark a shaky smile, not looking down. "Okay, okay, I'm...I'm okay. I just...hi."

Mark flinched and startled but it was more from the abruptness of Jack's movements than anything. He immediately sought out blue eyes and calmed some; forced himself to take in Jack's face. He never saw _their_ faces. He was never in a shower with _them_. This was different. This was okay because Jack was nervous too. _They_ were never nervous. Mark couldn't even begin to compare the slight, bruised body before him to _theirs_. He still didn't look lower than Jack's chest. "Hi... you're beautiful." Mark put up his own shaky smile for Jack and tried not to focus on his heartache too much. There were so many bruises.

Jack squeezed his elbows and shivered a little. “Sorry. I, um...He came up behind me. I just...Sorry. It's not you. It's _not_. It's just...standing in a bathroom. With another guy behind me. Sorry…”

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay. Really. I’d be a damn hypocrite if I got mad at you…. I should’ve realized what our position would do to you. Trauma’s trauma. Doesn’t matter what happened or how long ago…. _I’m_ sorry. For not thinking about _you_ more.” Hesitantly, Mark reached out to brush fingertips across one of Jack's pecs. "...this is okay? You sure you're okay? I'm... _I'm_ okay."

"I didn't even think of it myself, Mark, until you were there…” Jack took a deep breath and dropped his arms from protectively hugging his own chest. “I'm...yeah. I'm, I'm okay now. This is...You can touch. You can be in front of me. Just...Just not behind. Without pants."

"I understand. It's okay. We'll be more careful." It was a little weird, being the one comforting and reassuring Jack about something like this but even if his boyfriend's experience was different, it had left Jack with his own little slice of trauma. If anything, it made Mark's feelings and reactions more relatable, which could be good for their relationship.  
  
Jack inched a little closer, lifting his arms and then letting them drop again. "Can...can I hug you?"

Mark hesitated again at the request. "I don't... I don't know if I could handle that yet, like this, I...." He paused to give the dilemma serious thought because he could see for himself how badly Jack needed physical support right then. "...I could hug you? Just, it might take a minute, while I find a position I'm okay with. But you could huddle up close against my chest. Just... keep your arms to yourself?" If Jack only needed to be held, Mark could do that. He'd be in full control and there'd be no risk of feeling boxed in by Jack's arms. He wanted to help his boyfriend, but having his own anxiety attack would only make things even worse.

Jack nodded. He stepped closer, hesitated, and then twisted his whole body so when he leaned against Mark, it was with his hip and not his crotch. He breathed a small sigh when he made contact with Mark's thigh and not anywhere more private. Jack curled his arms against his chest and leaned against Mark's. "Okay?" he asked, dropping his cheek to Mark's shoulder.

It was... odd. Mark had never been so close to another naked man while naked himself- besides his brother, when they were just kids. Boy, were those some embarrassing bath photos. At least, he'd never been that close until the room, until those men happened. Every memory associated with the sensation now was negative. It always meant discomfort and pain and humiliation so he flinched a little and tensed up when Jack touched him, but Mark worked hard to keep his breathing even. He focused on all the major differences separating this situation from the room's. Jack wasn't touching any sensual parts of his body. Jack wasn't even grabbing at him, just standing there, pressed to his skin and snuggling in with his own warmth. Mark's heart felt fuzzy again at the sight of green brushing over his shoulder.  
  
Slowly, he lifted his arms to curl them around Jack's much smaller frame. One tucked itself around the back of Jack's narrow shoulder blades and the other wrapped itself in a downward shift along Jack’s mid-back. Mark made sure neither of them were discomfited before tightening his hold, pulling Jack's body closer to his chest. Mark breathed as the hot water cascaded down over his own back; their shoulders. "...okay... okay. I'm okay." He paused as his fingertips pressed into places he knew were safe from bruises. "...you okay?"

Jack nodded against Mark's shoulder, relaxing in his arms. He brushed his lips against the side of Mark's neck, moving slowly and carefully. "Thank you..."

Mark shivered, but it was okay. He was holding Jack; he wanted him close. Jack wasn't them. His kisses were sweet, and gentle, and heartfelt. There were no ulterior motives or false pretenses, just Jack showering Mark with his love and affection. He held his boyfriend a bit tighter and slowly rubbed his cheek, his jaw line, against the wet locks of green. "Thank _you_." It was because of Jack he could do this- _they_ could do this. Mark could be intimate again and he kissed the top of Jack's head. The room and its tortures were worlds away.

Jack shifted away from Mark enough to tip his head back, silently begging for a proper kiss and Mark couldn't stop himself from hesitating, again. Each new action with Jack in this setting was a risk, but it was just a kiss. He could do that. Mark dipped down to press their lips together; careful of Jack's nose. They were wet, but soft. Jack was warm in his arms and it was fantastic.

Jack kept his hands curled against his own chest. Slowly, Mark could feel the tension seep out of Jack’s shoulders and the muscles in his arms. Eventually, Jack broke the kiss with a soft murmur. "Bed?" he suggested to Mark, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Please." Mark mumbled back. His eyes were open, but his eyelids hung heavy. Droplets of water clung to his lashes as he grudgingly removed an arm from around Jack. He reached around blindly for the shower dial and eventually managed to switch off the spray. There was enough steam lingering in the bathroom to keep them semi-warm, but he really didn't want to let go of Jack.

"Towels?" Reluctantly, Jack stepped away, reaching up to squeeze as much water from his green hair as he could.

"Yeah...." Mark was grateful Jack found the motivation to pull away. If it were up to him, they might have been stuck there for a while longer. His arms felt empty, so he busied them with mimicking Jack's actions. He shook excess water from his dark hair and combed the strands back with his fingers. He needed to keep his mind off the fact they were still standing in the bath together, naked, while he fumbled around for the towels he left beyond the shower curtain. "...I... I was thinking, of trying to dye my hair again.... For a new charity goal...."

"Really?" Jack glanced over at Mark with a grin. "That'd be cool! Want to try this week, while I'm here, or did you want to give it some more time?"

Mark's confidence was bolstered by Jack's giddy excitement and he knew it was only a fraction of the reaction he'd get from his community. Going just a little pink from the sight of that blinding grin, Mark was finally able to pass Jack a towel. He didn't even bother drying off himself- just immediately wrapped it around his waist. He exhaled; better. "Yeah. I... well, I hadn't thought about it, but maybe it'd be a good idea to do it while you're here.... You could do the charity livestream with me. And if we hit the goal-" They would. He always did, even without the prospect of hair dye. "-then you can help me out. With dyeing it."

Jack laughed, accepting a towel and scruffing it over his hair before wrapping it around his waist as well. "Would you seriously trust me to dye your hair?” He waved his bruised hand at Mark. “Or would I be holding your hands while a professional did it?" He bounced a little after climbing out of the tub. "I'd love to livestream with you! We're never actually done one together before, not from the same room! I'd always be so jealous when Bob or Wade joined you. Webcams aren't the same."

"Maybe I'll make two goals. First one is to dye my hair. Second is to have Mr. JackSepticEye himself dye it. On camera." Jack's skill might have been questionable, but Mark trusted him. He wouldn't screw it up so monumentally bad that it would devastate Mark. If it was a little amateur looking, he could deal with that, and it would mean more money for the charity. (Plus the fans would eat it up.)  
  
Jack laughed again, picking up a second towel himself and wrapping it around his shoulders. "You have a lot more faith in my abilities than I do!"

"No, I just have a lot of faith in _you_." Mark shot Jack a tender smile before scrubbing water from his face. He toweled down a body that finally, finally felt more like his own after months of hard work and dedication. Only recently had he begun seriously feeling comfortable in his own skin again and dyeing his hair was the next step. The _final_ step towards fully getting his old life back.  
  
He stepped out of the tub a bit more gingerly and grabbed a second towel to dry his hair with. The locks were at last healthy and back to their normal lengthy luster. His hair looked good as it was; he got plenty of comments saying so, but he missed the red. It felt like part of his image had been absent for far too long. "We can do it from my studio. Just you, me and Chica. I'd rather have someone with me anyway and no offense to Tyler or Ethan or anyone but if I had a first pick, it’d definitely be you. You could even set a few goals for yourself."

"Let's do it. We'll have to explain this, though..." Jack touched his face, beside his nose. Not too many details had escaped, thankfully. Felix and Marzia had been targeted. The suspected kidnapper had been apprehended assaulting a con-goer in a bathroom. Jack and Mark had so far managed to keep their involvement quiet, but it was only a matter of time before it got out. Jack wouldn't be able to hide his broken nose once he was back in Ireland. "I don't mind if you're okay with it."

"We'll do it. My mind's made up now. There's no going back." Letting the damp towel hang over his shoulder, Mark stepped forward to gently brush fingers over the bruises on Jack's face. After a second of thought, he leaned in to kiss one. "We should tell them the truth. Maybe not the _whole_ truth. But about you getting attacked. We can spare any details you want. Like this, it just looks like the guy punched you out.... But I think the fans should know you're a survivor, too." It didn't matter how small the trauma might seem, it was still a life-changing event for Jack to experience. He deserved as much praise and credit for pushing through it as Mark did for his own recovery.

Jack closed his eyes, reaching up to trace his fingers over Mark's bare chest. "We need to tell them _you_ took him out. _You_ won against the Ship Sinker. Because that's the most important part." He pressed his hands flat against Mark's chest, palms over his nipples.

Mark's expression softened and he didn't flinch or pull away from the touch. "Okay. Okay, we'll tell them. But the fact you didn't let that asshole manipulate you is important too. The fact you're here, and happy, and pulling through the after-effects is so important, Sean. You know I'm not just saying that." It wasn't just important to their fans who had gone through trauma. It was important to _Mark_ ; to _his_ trauma experience. Horrible as the incident had been, it had given each of them a newfound love and respect for each other.

"I know," Jack said quietly. He leaned in to brush his lips against Mark's. "I _do_ know. And I will. I'll reassure them all that I look worse than I am and you were my hero, and I'll bat my eyes at you and drive the shippers crazy..." Jack looked at Mark, met his dark eyes, frowned a little. "Are you going to be okay with a livestream with challenges and rewards? Doing things...doing things for the entire internet to see if they hit certain numbers?"

"No one's going to be making me do anything, Jack. No one's going to force me. I can walk off camera and take a break if I need it. I can be comfortable. I'll choose specific challenges I know I won't have a problem doing.... And if anything goes seriously wrong, I don't think people will be too upset if we have to end it early. But having you there will be a major help. Having you there... it'll stop my mental space from going to a bad place. You can keep me grounded." Mark settled his hands on narrow shoulders and gave them a loving squeeze. "I trust you."

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it and moved in for a hug. "We're going to your place tomorrow, right?"  
  
Mark returned the embrace with an extra squeeze and smiled into Jack's hair. "Yeah. This is the last night we have reserved for the hotel. We'll be driving back tomorrow. We could even stop for a bite on the way? I know a ton of great places."

"I'll let you surprise me," Jack said, then huffed. "Broken noses _suck_."

Mark chuckled softly. "Sorry. We could grab some more ice for it? Might help with the swelling...."

“Nah.” Jack shook his head after the kiss, smiling. “Don’t wanna freeze my nose right before bed. If it’s still bad tomorrow, I’ll make up an ice bag for the ride home. For now… bed so you can snuggle me better?" He turned a blue-eyed pout up to Mark.

Mark gave Jack another quick peck on the lips when he spied it. "Bed. You wanna take your clothes and get dressed out there? It'll only take me a second, and then I can join you." That way neither of them would have to worry about a naked man being at their back while they were vulnerable.

Jack gave Mark a peck on the cheek and stepped back. “Don’t worry about walking in on me. I’ll pull my pants on first, so you can come out whenever.” He gathered up his clothes and left the bathroom.

Mark knew Jack would patiently wait for him, but he didn’t feel like making his boyfriend wait _too_ long. He wanted to snuggle up in bed with Jack just as much. Without another person in the room, it was easy for him to dry off and get dressed. He took a moment to look over his own healing bruises without Jack present to worry about them. The ones on his knuckles were the worst, but they were also marks of his victory against the Ship Sinker, against Jack’s attacker; against abusers everywhere whom thought they could take advantage of others. He tightly clenched his fist and drew a deep breath through his nose. “Self-defense. It was self-defense.”

He gave a little nod to his reflection in the mirror and headed out but sounds of subdued pain coming from the bed piqued his curiosity. “Jack?” There was a hint of concern in his tone, but it fizzled straight out once he saw the cause. Jack was poking and prodding at the green and yellow bruises splotched across his legs. Mark stopped in front of Jack with a surprised blink. “Having fun there?”

“More fun than I should be.” Jack prodded his shin again. “Ow.” He looked up at Mark with a guilty little smile. “I look so gross. Or cool. I’m sorta tempted to take pictures for possible future thumbnail usage?” He tilted the end of the statement up, turning it into a question. “I mean, these colors aren’t easy to replicate, and my legs look all septic…”

Mark shook his head with an affectionate smile. “Goober. I dunno about _cool,_ but you don’t look gross either. You just look like a little Irish green bean poking his bruises like a big ol’ dum-dum. But if you wanna snap some pics I’m not gonna stop you.” He would never _not_ be astonished by how Jack was _always_ thinking of his channel; of little tidbits or snippets he could take advantage of and include. Mark had a knack for spying vlogging opportunities, but his YouTuber savviness tended to end there.

Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark, but he stopped poking at his bruises to reach for his phone by the bed. He frowned at his right hand. “...I should probably put my splint back on. Can you get it for me?”

“Huhuh, yeah, good idea. Don’t wanna be a stoop like me and forget to put your sling back on after you just get out of the hospital….” Mark had taken it off later the very same day they moved into their riverside cottage and proceeded to leave it off during the days that followed. Technically, it had no permanently adverse effects on his healing wrist, but it certainly didn’t help with the soreness factor. Dr. Agon had given him a good scolding about it when he found out at his next appointment. Mark fetched the little splint for Jack and then joined him on the bed with a soft huff of an exhale. “You gonna be okay sleeping with that on again? It can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s not the _most_ comfortable, but it’s a hell of a lot better than accidentally bumping or sleeping on my hand,” Jack sighed. “I did that in the shower once, and it _hurt_. Not bad bad, but like a throbbing that didn’t go away for _ages.”_

He took a few selfies pulling different faces, grimacing at his own bruises. “Jesus, Mark, how can you stand to look at me right now? I look like a blind makeup challenge victim or something!” He took the splint from Mark and started strapping it back on.

Mark looked to Jack and waited until he was finished wrapping the splint to take his injured hand. He gently brushed his thumb over the bruises there but his eyes never left Jack’s. It hurt his heart to see the man he loved in such a state. Mark’s only consolation was that the injuries weren’t worse and that he’d given the culprit proper retribution in Jack’s name. He thought of how his fingers were still crooked over Jack’s and mustered up an encouraging smile. “You looked at me back then. In the hospital. In the rain. I looked- fuck it, I _was_ a man on Death’s door, Jack. I probably looked like a corpse someone had dug up and stuck a sheet on in that hospital bed. But you never stopped looking at me. And you never stopped loving me; forget the kind of love it was. You still cared. _I_ care. And I love you. The bruises will go away and I’ll _still_ love you. I’m just happy you’re here with me. Not in the hospital, not in intensive care, not…”

He could feel himself starting to get too emotional as he lifted his free hand to gently hold Jack’s chin. Mark’s lips were trembling while his face scrunched up with a watery puff of air. “...y’know. I’m just glad you’ll be okay.” His voice cracked. _Fuck._ “Sorry, sorry. I’m such a baby, oh my god. If I start crying just shove me off the bed or something goddamn.”

“Mark…” Jack leaned over to plug his phone in again, then turned back to wrap his arms around him. “Mark, I didn’t mean.... I love you. I’ve always loved you. I _will_ always love you. Back then… back then I was just so happy that _you_ were alive, and in hospital and safe and… it didn’t matter what you _looked_ like, you were _safe._ ”

Jack pressed a kiss to Mark’s cheek. “Mark, it’s okay. I don’t doubt that you love me, no matter how I look. I’m just glad you’re not cringing when you look at me. Your face wasn’t nearly as screwed up as mine is.”

Mark returned Jack’s embrace and pressed his face into Jack’s hair. It was still damp but he didn’t mind. “That’s exactly how I feel looking at you right now. It doesn’t matter if your face is worse or if your injuries aren’t. Or if you’re not laying in a hospital bed attached to fifty different wires and IV’s. I love you. And I’m not gonna cringe away. Remember, you’re talking to a guy that had plenty worse to cringe away from in the past year… including himself.. myself… whatever! Jack, I would stare at your _mutilated mug_ all day because it would mean I’d still have you here with me to look at in the first place.” He paused, mulling over his choice of words, then opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. “...I could have phrased that better.”

“It is a very good thing I both love you and have known you for a long time,” Jack declared, squeezing his arms around Mark’s back. “Coming from you, that was very sweet.” He kissed Mark’s neck and gave a sigh. “Let’s just go to bed?” he suggested. “I believe we were gonna do some post-bath cuddles?”

Mark chuckled a bit awkwardly; relieved. “Good. Cool. That’s what I was going for, so…. Guess you wouldn’t love me if you weren’t used to my awful Englishing skills by now.” Humming in response to the kiss, Mark nuzzled at Jack’s hairline. “Bed. Cuddles. Right now. I second the motion and initiate the cuddle sequence.”

If he let loose a little _“nyroooom”_ sound effect as he dragged Jack and himself down onto the bed, it was all in an effort to make Jack laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	95. 11/8: Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The number of surprises those men in the room kept from Mark appears endless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell me all of you forgot about our little social experiment already....

“Mark?”

Mark was loose and calm and happy, snuggling into Jack’s neck, his fingers pressed against Jack’s tattoo. “Hm?” Had been his immediate response to his name. He was still lounging in an all too familiar post-coital bliss. (Okay, so technically they _still_ hadn't made love, but whatever. Close enough. An orgasm was a damn orgasm in his book.) Rubbing his cheek against Jack’s chest, Mark stretched out his limbs a bit like a cat. His toes and fingers flexed; the latter pawing at the air, at Jack’s skin. Mark’s eyes were closed because he was surrounded by everything _Jack_ and so far as he was concerned, his mind _was not_ going back to that room tonight. Not with Jack here in his arms.

“Can we… there’s something I have to tell you. Before the livestream tomorrow.”

The anxiety and hesitance in Jack’s tone when he spoke again unsettled Mark from his contented near-doze. He forcefully roused himself so as to supply Jack with more of his attention and grunted softly. “Jack? What's up? Are you having second thoughts?? If you're nervous about the bruises you don't have to join us…” Mark and Jack had invited Felix to join the livestream as well since he was in California for Blizzcon anyway. The King of YouTube had agreed to a little “holy trinity” special and Felix would probably be disappointed if Jack pulled out, like Mark, but both would understand. Concerned, Mark lifted his head from Jack’s chest to look through blurry, half-lidded eyes at his boyfriend.

“What? No, it's not… I'm not pulling out, Mark. I'll be there. I _want_ to be there. I do. And even if I didn't, I'd be there for you anyway.” Jack smoothed the backs of his knuckles over Mark’s cheek and smiled at him, tinged with a little sadness. “It's just...there's something you don't know. And I don't want you to find out accidentally, or in public, like in a livestream. I wanted to tell you before, so you could...you'd have a chance to react without needing to worry about having your reaction seen. Because…”

“Oh… okay….” That left Mark confused, but he knew Jack wouldn't leave him hanging for long. His eyes closed for another brief moment so he could enjoy the knuckles on his cheek. Still cuddly and affectionate after their activities, he turned his head to kiss them. Jack was getting at something big- something really _important_ \- he could tell. Mark forced his eyes open and tried to focus on Jack again no matter how much he just wanted to lay back down and sleep.

Jack hesitated, then flinched as he said the next words. “It's about _that_ website…”

Mark’s desire to drift off again disappeared as if it were nothing more than a weak flame for Jack’s words to harshly blow out. _That website._ Mark felt ill just thinking about it; about the things the Ship Sinker had uploaded to it for the whole world to bear witness to, for people to save and share and spread. Finally, _finally_ those images and soundless video files were gone from general searches. A person had to go specifically digging if they wanted to track them down and Mark couldn't understand why Jack was bringing it up. He had figured the topic was dead and buried; hadn't thought about the site in quite some time yet there it was, out on the table and cutting into him as deeply as ever.

“There was… there was a hit counter…”

Mark still couldn't comprehend things when Jack managed to elaborate. Well, that or he didn't _want_ to. That, or his brain specifically _refused_ to. Mark _knew_ what a hit counter was. He wasn't stupid, but the concept of _that website_ hosting one was so horrific his brain shoved it to the wayside in an instant. Mark blinked, then let out an awkward little chuckle; a wheeze of a laugh which clearly belied his bemused incredulity. “A.. a hit counter? Haha, Jack, what are you talking about? ‘Hit counter’? Why would there be a hit counter? What would that even do I mean it sounds pointless to me putting something like that on a site when it's not even gonna… not even gonna do anything….” Mark’s face slowly fell. Denial came weak to those who had experienced Hell and pained, brown eyes gazed up at Jack imploringly, silently begging him not to confirm the fears lurking beneath. “It… _didn't_ matter. Right? Tell me it was pointless, Jack. Please.”

Jack’s face was crumpling into misery as he reached for Mark to draw him close again. “They'd post a new picture every twenty-five hits,” he whispered. “A new video every hundred. I don't know...I _know_ the pictures and videos weren't the most current. They were at least days behind the actual. But I don't know if they...If they did things to you specifically for milestones on the website or not.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut, hugging Mark tight. “I'm sorry, Mark. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry…”

“...so… what you're saying is… if no one had visited that website, they'd never… there wouldn't have been any….” Mark wondered if this was how it felt to have an existential crisis. It was one thing to think the Ship Sinker planned to humiliate him, period, and expose all his vulnerabilities to the world. It was _entirely different_ to find out the people _themselves_ were the cause; the entire reason images and videos had been leaked of Mark in the first place. He felt beyond sick. He felt crushed, devastated. “They knew.”

If Jack figured it out, other people _must_ have known. Mark had to account for the few sickos who didn't care, but that meant _thousands_ of people- _his fans-_ had kept visiting the site anyway. Every day. They _knew_ it would create more material and it didn't stop them- _any_ of them. How many of his friends had gone to the site to check up on him? How many times a day? Even Tom had done it for their moms (and his own sanity). _They'd all done it._

“I'm… I'm gonna be sick- I need- Jack, excuseme-” Mark couldn't- he _couldn't._ He felt guilty knowing his actions would hurt Jack but if he stayed one second longer he'd be throwing up all over his boyfriend _and_ the bed. Shakily, he pulled out of Jack’s arms and nearly fell from the covers. He stumbled; catching himself and quietly dry heaving. ‘ _No time for the bathroom.’_ Mark fell to his knees in front of the little waste bin he kept by his desk in the bedroom and promptly lost his half-digested dinner. Tears were prickling at his eyes but it was impossible to tell if his heaving was from puking or the beginning of sobs. ‘ _They knew. They knew they knew_ ** _they knew and they didn't stop.’_**

Mark heard more than saw Jack leave the bed as well and cross the room to drop by his side and support him, one arm around his back, the other pushing his floofy hair out of his face. “I’ll get you some water,” he said. “When you’re done here, I’ll get you a glass and you can rinse your mouth out.”

Mark didn't heave for very long, but by the time his stomach had stopped flipping around he was definitely sobbing and between the two actions he'd long lost track of his breath. He could feel his lungs wanting to hyperventilate in the wake of such a ground shaking discovery and Mark tried to rein in his breaths even as he cried. His knuckles, still a little bruised and scabbed over, were bone white from how tightly his hands were clutching the bin. His sides were still healing as well and they _ached_ from the near constant flex and pull of Mark’s muscles. In general, he just felt like crap all over. It was such an enormous contrast to how he'd been feeling mere minutes ago it was a wonder Mark didn't have some form of emotional whiplash. Maybe he did. Maybe that's why he felt so sick.

No, the newfound knowledge was likely still to blame. Mark leaned back away from the bin. He'd thought nothing else could surprise him about his forced captivity; he thought he knew all there was to know, that there wouldn't be any more surprises to send him spiraling down like this. Mark should have known better. There was _always_ something.

He found himself leaning into Jack’s arm for support no matter how his heart felt in that moment because Mark _needed_ Jack. He needed him _right now._ Blame and guilt could be assigned later when he wasn't toeing the line between upset and a sheer anxiety attack. “Glasses, gl-glasses Jack please, I can't, it's too….” Mark hiccuped; face a flushed mess of tears and snot and a few flecks of what he'd deposited into the can. “...t-too much, I can't breathe right, need…” He needed his anchors, his security blankets, _Jack._

“Okay,” Jack said. “Okay. Here, sit back, lean against the wall. I’ll be right back with your glasses.” He helped Mark shift against the wall, then bounced to his feet and crossed the room to snatch Mark’s glasses and a box of tissues off the bedside table. He returned to kneel beside Mark, offering him tissues first, to dry his eyes, and then the glasses.

Mark sank more than leaned against the wall and he'd already started scrubbing at his face with his hands like a little kid by the time Jack returned with tissues. Belatedly, he used them to clean himself up a little. He was still crying, but most of the mess was gone. Mark sniffled and took a moment to blow his nose into one before slipping on his glasses. Instantly, the world slid into clarity and he felt a little better. His psyche could be reassured: no matter what happened in the past, Mark was safe now.

“Do you want me to get Chica?” Jack asked. He was hovering, clearly anxious. “I can bring her here, you can hold her tight…”

Mark slumped further down the wall with a fresh bout of sniffling, then changed his mind and tugged his knees up to his chest instead. He buried his face there but was sure to give Jack a quick, emphatic nod first. Chica was a welcomed prospect. Empathetic as she was, Chica had probably already started scratching at the door of her crate downstairs. She knew when her daddy needed her.

“Okay,” Jack said. “Okay. I'll be right back with her. I'll turn the lights on too.”

Jack pushed himself to his feet and hurried out the door, turning on the light on his way out. Mark didn't respond, though he felt Jack’s absence as sharply as a knife (and he knew _exactly_ what that felt like). He waited by the wall and tried to properly count his breaths. ‘ _In and out, in and out.’_ He wasn't anticipating Chica barreling into the room. One second he was alone; the next, he was being bombarded by fluffy fur and a wet tongue. Mark sputtered as Chica appeared to do her very best job of smothering him. “Pffftpftpfptpft _Chica._ Chica stop- Chica- Chica ohmygod you crazy pup, heel! Down girl! Down!” Mark pressed firmly but gently at his beloved companion until she obeyed.

“Easy bub, easy. That's it. C’mon, you can lay on me. It's okay. You just startled daddy that's all. C’mon baby girl.” Mark sniffled and scrubbed at his face, but Chica’s grand entrance had stunned his tears away. The big retriever happily clambered half into Mark’s lap with a little huff. Giggling, Mark hugged his pupperschnupp tight, then transitioned to burrowing his face into her chest instead. Chica was perfectly content to sit there with her muzzle tucked over Mark’s hair and pant after all the excitement while Mark snuffled quietly. “Good girl, Chica. That's a good girl.”

Jack returned to the bedroom and came up to sit beside Mark again, offering him a glass of water. “Good girl, Chica. Thank you for taking care of Mark for me.”

Mark nuzzled at Chica’s fur some more but eventually pulled away to accept the glass. No matter how much he wanted to just sink into Chica forever and forget all the bad things, his mouth still tasted bitter and sour.

“How are you doing?” Jack asked quietly.

Mark didn't respond to Jack right away. He took time to swish out his mouth once or twice; spitting into the trash can since it already had liquid in it anyway. Then he nearly polished off the rest, letting the smooth lip of the glass drop from his mouth with a relieved exhale. His face was red and splotchy, his eyes were puffy and swollen and he was still sniffling a little but he'd stopped crying. (He also felt considerably less nauseous.)

Mark stared down into the minuscule remains of his glass for a few moments longer before speaking; his voice rough and wet from the double whammy his throat had taken. “...better. Not freaking out anymore. Thanks.” Mark downed the last sip or two and set the glass aside, immediately hugging Chica close. He wasn't looking _at_ Jack, but he wasn't pointedly looking away either. Mark’s gaze was a bit distant; unfocused. His cheek pressed to Chica’s neck while he kept steady count of his breaths.

“...you know I love you. You know I don't blame you for anything that happened. You know I'd forgive you for almost _anything_ at this point.” Mark dragged his cheek up and down Chica’s neck and she returned the gesture with an affectionate snort into his hair. “...I just want to know why. _Why._ Why did everyone keep looking why did they keep _coming_ if they knew…. If they cared so much then why didn't they stop?” His voice cracked and Mark pressed closer to Chica in an effort not to start crying again.

“I couldn’t,” Jack said quietly. “I couldn’t _not_ look. I needed to see you were still alive. Still fighting Or…” He swallowed, picking at the fabric of his pants. “Or after a point, I wanted to see if you had died yet.”

Mark knew Jack had wished Mark dead after a certain point. He had assured Jack he didn’t blame him for it at all, that he had wished he were dead too. Jack took a shaky breath and drew his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees. “I tried to only look once a day, to at least limit myself that way. I _did_. I just… sometimes I needed to see you more.”

“I understand….” Jack said he’d loved Mark long before they started living together; that he was attracted to Mark before they even met. If Mark felt that way for someone- like he felt for Jack- and they were in his situation, he couldn’t pretend he wouldn’t be tempted to do the same. That he wouldn’t anxiously check the website _at least_ daily to make sure Jack- they, _they,_ not Jack, _never Jack-_ was alive.

There was a slightly positive side, though. “Wade never looked. _Never_. He saw the first pictures, before you woke up for the first time, and said he didn’t want to see more, didn’t want to see what they did to you. Bob or I’d give him updates when he asked how you were doing. Bob would… not often, but every now and then, he’d need to check for himself. Tyler was the same. Felix… Felix only looked if I had a breakdown over something I saw, so he could know what to say to get me away from the bottle. And the Grumps… when the Grumps would look, they’d all look together, so they only counted as one. That’s… that’s all I know for sure.”

The information on _the rest_ was very much needed. Mark listened as Jack tallied off their- _Mark’s-_ friends one by one. Wade didn’t surprise him and neither did Bob. Tyler, Felix, the Grumps; all of them had done their best to keep their consumption of his Hellish experience conservative. They collectively tried to contribute as few hits as possible and Mark felt a little lighter for that.

“I don’t know about your community… it took a while for people to realize the update pattern. And even then, not everyone knew. I _do_ know there was… there was a mirror site made.” Jack bit his lip. “Some of your followers had… they hoped making a second, not-counted site would drive less traffic to the real one. I don’t know how successful it was. So… some people didn’t know, and some people didn’t care, and that’s…” Jack sighed. “I asked them not to. In a vlog. I asked them not to look, not to share. I don’t know if that helped or hurt…”

The community, they were the main source of hits. Mark didn’t need statistics or proof to guess that much. He’d had over fourteen _million_ subscribers at the time of his kidnapping and if even _half_ that number visited the site every other day for three months… it added up. Mark was a bit touched and awed to hear about the mirror site, yet also conflicted. The gesture behind it was nice enough, but at its core it was another way to share the nightmare he’d suffered through- just with less guilt attached. Jack had made a vlog and his other friends had probably made similar mentions to avoid the site, yet people still visited enough that there were _hundreds_ of images posted. Mark’s heart didn’t much care for reasons when it felt so subtly, _unknowingly,_ betrayed.

Silently, Mark uncurled an arm from around Chica and let his hand drop to the floor where it inched out as far as he could reach. It rested there for a moment next to Jack before rolling over to lay palm-up; fingers slightly curled. He still wasn’t looking at Jack, however, it was a step forward. A… “...baby steps…. You can’t change the past. Right?”

Jack pressed his palm against Mark’s and gave a small nod. “I’m sorry, Mark. And I’m sorry… sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t realize you didn’t know until… just a couple days ago, and then you were so happy and I didn’t want to… I’m sorry.”

Mark curled his fingers until they could hook onto Jack’s. His thumb curved up and around to brush gently at the back of Jack’s hand and he squeezed. “I appreciate that you regret it. That you’re sorry. I _do._ Because I bet a lot of people don’t.” Mark gently coaxed Chica to lay down across his lap and his free hand immediately tangled fingers into her fur.

“...but I won’t hold it against you. Looking, and not telling me for so long. I can’t. I would’ve done the same.” Mark let his hand drag down along Chica’s back; over and over. The gesture was soothing for them both. “You don’t have to keep being sorry. I already forgave you. I’ll forgive the others, too. And my community…. I’m not.. I won’t just _get over it._ I’m not that optimistic. But letting it make me bitter or spiteful or hateful towards people I don’t even know would be wrong. It’d be another way of letting **_them_** win. I never want to let them win anything again. We started it at Blizzcon, and I’m gonna keep it rolling with this. _You can’t change the past._ ” Mark stated the phrase again; definitively. He watched his crooked, scarred fingers comb through golden fur.

Then he looked over to Jack with another reassuring squeeze. “But you can pick out how you let it affect you. And define you. And… and I sound like the protagonist of the most cliche inspiring action movie ever, Jack. I’m sorry. This is so lame, _I’m_ so lame but I don’t know how to words right and…” Mark huffed; wet and affectionate and exasperated at himself. “...I really don’t want you to cry anymore.”

“You’re not lame, Mark,” Jack said quietly. “You are the strongest person I know, with the biggest heart, and…” He sighed, squeezing Mark’s hand back. “I’m… I’m grateful you forgive me. I _am_. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy to forgive myself. I’ve been trying to push it down and ignore it, but…”

“Sean McLoughlin, have you been skipping your therapy meetings?” Mark tried to ask the rhetorical question with some humor in his tone but with Jack’s current state the joke fell a little flat and he sighed. “Big lesson mine wouldn’t shut up about: pushing things down and ignoring them only makes them worse. So…” Mark tilted his own head so he could press a feather light kiss to Jack’s hair. He shifted and adjusted their hands until he could successfully interlock their fingers and squeeze again. “There’s a lot of nasty stuff you’ve been dealing with too. And I haven’t been strong enough to help you through it the way you’ve been helping me. I wanna change that. I wanna help _you_ get better now, Jack. It won’t be tonight. It probably won’t be for a while. But promise me you’ll try to start?” It was his turn to put up the doe-eyed look for his boyfriend. Chica, as if sensing the importance of the situation, shifted the focus of her own pleading gaze to Jack.

“I haven’t been skipping my meetings,” Jack assured Mark with a little shake of his head. “I just… there’s always been more important things to talk about. But… I’ll bring it up next time. I promise. I hate feeling like this. I really do want to get better too.” He sighed and closed his eyes, then sagged over, his head brushing against Mark’s shoulder. “Can we… can we just go back to bed? Chica can join us.”

“We’ll go to bed- _with_ Chica, yes bub, you can come too. But… I think we should try to talk about this. At some point. Just the two of us… and maaaybe Chica….” Mark shot Chica a glance when the golden retriever peered up at him expectantly with her big puppy dog eyes.

When Jack opened his eyes again, he gave Mark’s hand a squeeze and pulled himself to his feet. “Bed?” he asked, holding out his other hand to Mark.

Mark smiled and took Jack’s second hand without hesitation. “Bed. C’mon, Chica-bica. Gotta get up. Let your daddy up or you can’t join him on the bed with Jack, bub.” There was a lot of huffing and whining, but Chica eventually moved. Mark rose to his feet and then took advantage of the hold he had on both of Jack’s hands by pulling Jack in close to peck a kiss against his forehead.

“Love you. A lot.” Mark let his lips brush over the bridge of Jack’s nose and he gave a little tug, maneuvering them both back around towards the bed. “Only cuddles and sleep now. No more talking. Unless it’s cheesy declarations of love or telling me how fucking amazing I am.” The corner of his mouth twitched up a bit higher; the ghost of a smirk. “ _Maybe_ I’ll even say the same about you.”

Jack smiled weakly and tucked himself against Mark’s chest; closing his eyes. “I love you, Mark Fischbach,” Jack whispered, fingers dipping down across Mark’s back to find the scar. “ _Always._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was always a thing, but it gained a bit more weight and meaning once we decided to run the images-per-hits experiment earlier in the story. Because Mark never knew about the hit counter, its existence kind of fell to the wayside once he was free. But whether Jack had told Mark about it on day 100 or day 294, the fact remains it was a thing, and that it took people to drive it up and produce the content. Were it earlier in the story, Mark may have been more bitter; the wounds of trauma too fresh to let the betrayal slide. However, he's come a long way, and he knows from experience now that harboring that rage and bitterness is just what the Ship Sinker would be hoping for.
> 
> It may take time, but he'll forgive them. And he forgives you guys too. :) After all, without your hits, none of those images would have been written out and posted as extra chapters at all. Yup, Clay could have gone without a single extra chapter. Maybe in another universe. uwu
> 
> (Of course, don't get me wrong, I'm so glad you guys found and enjoyed the story enough to come back over and over. XD I just thought it horribly ironic how some people would refresh the site daily... just like in the story....)
> 
> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	96. 12/2: Imagination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark got lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, welcome to the bonus chapter...

A month. It had been nearly a _month_ since Mark last saw Jack and it was going to be nearly another month before he saw him again in person. Their Skype call last night didn’t count. Mark spun around in his desk chair, hating how quiet it was; hating how much he missed Jack. That last night in California…

Mark closed his eyes, his mind conjuring up memories. Memories of being a complete _dick_ after the livestream, good moods restored all around. Of Jack threatening to spank him into obedience and Mark asking if he had to call Jack daddy. Of the complete shock on both of their faces when Mark had then gone scarlet and whispered “...I’m so hard right now.”

He wasn’t, not now anyway, but the little whisper summoned up a giggle.

Jack hadn’t spanked Mark. What Jack _had_ done was push Mark against a wall (consensually), and they had _attempted_ to explore Mark’s apparent daddy kink (he was _still_ trying to sort _that_ particular mess out), but Mark couldn’t stop laughing, which triggered Jack to laugh, and really, it had ended up being sloppy, half-naked sexy fun times with their pants on the floor-- _completely_ \--and Jack pressed in between Mark’s legs as Mark jacked them both off.

Memories like that one, sexual or otherwise, had been plaguing him all day and Mark knew it was late in Ireland, but he also knew Jack had a bad tendency to stay up well into the wee (ha, Irish slang) hours of the morning. He’d stretched for a video call over simple texting or messaging because, well, to be honest he was feeling pretty lonely. Not just in his usual “I really fucking miss my boyfriend” way, but legitimately _lonely._ Mark had moved into his new house less than a week ago and it was a quaint little cabin not too unlike the one he’d shared with Jack in Ireland. Tucked away in the foothills of the Santa Monica mountains, Mark wasn’t _quite_ as secluded from society, but it was better than his old house closer to the heart of Los Angeles.

He relished the peace and quiet of the location. There wasn’t a River Shannon, but a little creek did meander its way about half a mile out from his new home and Chica had more than enough space to run around for _days_. However, in exchange for such amenities came the cost of close and easy companionship. Everyone Mark knew in L.A. was _miles_ away and Chica couldn’t talk.

So, if he was going to bother with Skype calling anyone, it was going to be his damn boyfriend halfway across the world and he felt relief flood his veins when the call was answered. Mark beamed up at Jack from where he sat hunched over his desk. He’d folded his arms snugly in front of his keyboard to rest his chin on them. Having just wrapped up recording a short time ago, his hair was still a bit of a mess. The brilliant red Jack had dyed a good chunk with flared up from Mark’s head like dancing flames and he tried to be subtle about taking in the details of Jack through what a webcam could provide but wasn’t very good at it. Jack was shirtless and looking just a little flushed; completely and utterly attractive and equally out of reach. Sighing from his nose, Mark returned the smile given to him with an ease which had taken _months_ of hard work to get back. “Hey Jack. Didn't wake you up, did I?" Jack didn't really look sleepy or tired, but he did look... off. It could just be the lighting.

"Nah, was putting off actually going to sleep. Ready for it, but...nah. Bed was too empty." Jack was looking Mark over too. "How are you doing?"

"Pft. That's the Jack I know and love." Of course he'd be putting off sleep. "Sleep is for the weak" was practically a JackSepticEye catchphrase. Mark kind of wanted to admonish him for it but if he told Jack to sleep, then Jack wouldn't be awake to chat with him. He'd just make sure Jack went to bed when they finished. Yeah. Besides, he could empathize with the excuse. “Mine too.”  
  
Mark sighed and turned his head so his cheek was pressing into his forearms instead. Lean, muscular arms with plenty of bicep showing because Mark was home and safe and thus wearing a T-shirt. The scars were harder to see via webcam. "I'm okay. Little lonely, I guess. That's sort of why I called. Besides just wanting to see you." He smiled again; all warm brown eyes and soft lips. Mark couldn't stop just _looking_ at Jack, taking it all in as much as video allowed. Thank god they both had high quality webcams. "I've started plotting out the space for my new garden. Chica keeps trying to dig holes everywhere, though. If only I could channel her into where I _want_ the holes we'd be golden." Accidental pun? Well, Wade wasn't around to make it worse.

"Heh, have you tried making it more tempting to dig where you want? I dunno, sprinkle chicken broth over it or something?"  
  
Mark snorted at the suggestion. "I think she'd just try to eat all the grass. Or lick it for an hour."

Jack bit his lip. "Mark, I, uh...I was a little lonely too. Thinking of you. And...uh..."

Mark’s expression became a little concerned when Jack started speaking again with a clear nervous hesitation in his voice; almost like he was guilty of something- the kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He lifted his head some and sat up a bit. "Jack...?"  
  
Jack glanced down, then back at Mark with a crooked grin. "I'm not wearing pants?"

The reveal was... well, lackluster to say the least; anticlimactic. Mark puffed out an exasperated breath and slumped back into his chair, showing off how the T-shirt hugged snugly around his muscular torso. His bangs drifted into his eyes from the action and he combed them back out of habit. At least the grin Jack sported was cute. "Oh my god, Jack, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought it was something serious you were about to unload on me here. We've had calls with you in nothing but boxers before." There were plenty of times when Mark was pantsless too. He didn't understand the big deal.

Jack laughed, but it cut-off abruptly. He gave a little whimper. "No, Mark, I mean no _pants_. I _mean_ , dumbass, I'm not wearing fucking _anything_ , and I was lonely and thinking of you."  
  
"Jack??" The whimper had Mark concerned again. If it weren't for the odd tangent Jack had taken them down, he might have asked if he was sick. Or maybe he'd injured himself and didn't want to tell Mark? But no, he'd specifically mentioned having his pants off; with emphasis. Mark's brow furrowed and his lips pushed into a light pout. "Sooo... you're naked?" He pressed his hands to the edge of his desk and leaned back as if it would give him a broader view of Jack.  
  
Jack, his boyfriend, who was lonely and naked in bed and thinking of him; of Mark. Whimpering and still looking a bit more pink than what should be normal. Was his breath that harsh the whole time? It took approximately thirty seconds but eventually Mark's poor brain got there. "Oh." Slowly, his own face darkened with a blush. _“Oh.”_ Mark swallowed tightly. Jack was... he was masturbating. Right now, while talking to Mark. The redness creeped up into his ears as he stared into baby blues through two layers of screen and the grip on his desk tightened.  
  
Jack was masturbating on camera for Mark. Well, not necessarily _for_ him but Mark was certainly on the receiving end. Mental images began trickling into his mind and he quickly shut them down, squeezing his legs together beneath the desk. "I-I... shit, Jack, you should've said something. I can uh... I can hang up. Call you back later, or... tomorrow, maybe. Give you some privacy." From Mark's traumatized perspective, there was no reason Jack should want to do that on camera, whether Mark could see the action itself or not.

"Sorry, what?" Jack asked, the direction of his eyes on the screen shifting. "You think I'd rather just be imagining you than talking with you? Fuck that!" Jack shook his head firmly. "Mark, I can...I can stop, if you're uncomfortable, or...I just didn't want you to be oblivious." Jack was biting his lip again.

"I'm not... _uncomfortable_. I mean, not if you're sure that you... that you're okay. _With this._ I just... I didn't think you'd...." Mark rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. People did this sort of thing all the time, didn't they? Put on a show for their lovers over webcam; pretended they were in each other's arms, touching each other's bodies. It was _normal_ for long distance relationships. His stomach dropped quietly. _He_ was the odd one.  
  
Mark tried to push away the reminder of how much they'd _ruined_ him because Jack was going to get worried and then he'd stop and probably get blue balls and it would be all Mark's fault. He tried to smile for his boyfriend as he rested his weight on his knees. "You don't have to stop, Jack. I'm okay. I just wasn't sure about you, so... if you're good, then I'm good. Really. And... I appreciate you letting me know." It would prove to be some very nice spank bank material later, at the very least.

"To be fair, you interrupted me. But I chose to answer. Don't think I'm upset about your call. And it's not like you can see anything from this angle..." Jack looked down again. "Fuck, Mark, I wish you were here..."

Mark's pout returned. "Me too. Or that you were at least here. I still miss you." He wanted to be with Jack, period. Not just because Jack probably looked really hot right then, or because he wanted to touch Jack when he was... fuck. Mark could feel himself waking up a bit down South as his mind conjured things they could be doing if they were together. He hoped the flush had died down on his cheeks when he pressed lightly at his crotch, as if he could push the "turtle" back into its "shell", so to speak. He bit his lip.  
  
"I'm not... I don't really hear anything. I mean, anything obvious. What... what are you doing, exactly? I-if you don't mind me asking, uh...." Part of Mark wanted to give this a try, but he would be damned if he knew just how to go about it. Particularly without accidentally triggering himself, but both his brain and his dick wanted more information for their mental picture.

"You really want to know?" Jack was a bit breathless as he looked back at Mark.  
  
Mark nodded silently at the question. His chin and mouth were once more tucked against the forearm he had laid out on his desk; like a soldier peeking up out of his fox hole. Really, he was just trying to hide how flushed he himself was and how his teeth refused to let up their abuse on his lip. He'd rather be biting at Jack's skin, but most of all, the hunched over position should hide the fact desperate pressing was slowly morphing into gentle rubbing between his legs.  
  
"I'm, ah… I...actually have...Jesus, why is this harder to say than it is to do!?" There was a deeper flush to Jack's face now, and he looked more directly at Mark. Jack's frustration was curious to Mark. He must be doing something silly or embarrassing. Not just stroking himself, then. Was he using a toy or something? Mark's mind was having a field day with the possibilities. He swallowed down a whimper and pushed a bit harder at his boxers. Finally, in the comfort of his new home, he'd felt safe to work with his pants off. Now he wasn't sure if he was grateful for or regretted the decision. Eventually, Jack continued, "Don't laugh, okay? I'm...I'm fingering myself. Was imagining you doing it..."

Mark had wanted to promise he wouldn't laugh. He was glad he didn't. Admittedly, he did muffle a bit of a giggle into his arm, but it was partially to mask the gasping little moan Jack's words triggered. His brain was picturing what he couldn't see all too easily and it was absolutely terrible for his self-control. Mark ground the heel of his palm hard along the line his erection was forming in his underwear and bit at his own arm to stifle another whine. Trembling just a smidgen, he forced himself to let go so he could reply. "...holy balls, Jack, that... that's... why the Hell is that so hot?! You have _fingers up your butt_." He almost giggled again. "Does it... does it really feel that good??"

Jack bit his lip and grinned. He nodded, shifting on the bed. "It's...I had to go _really_ slow at first, but now it's...mm...  
  
"Remember... remember when you sucked on my finger? How did your mouth feel?"  
  
Mark licked his lips; let his tongue curl around and over his teeth. The same tongue which had brushed along Jack's finger as if it were completely natural; like it hadn't been made to do anything else in the world and it had felt good. Not like when **_they_** would shove fingers in his mouth, but pulling it in himself and going at his own pace had been nice and Jack had _loved_ it- before he freaked out, anyway. Mark pushed himself up a bit so he could free the arm he'd been using as a cover. He brushed those fingers over his lips and was almost ashamed when he wanted to just pop them in. Would Jack find that as hot as Mark found Jack to be in that moment? Maybe.  
  
"...good. It was good. I liked it."

  
"Or when you're biting at me, and you just... you _need_ to? Just, you _need_ to get your mouth on me, and it feels so _good_ when you finally do?" Jack continued, clearly doing his best to help Mark relate.

The biting was even easier to comprehend. Mark had always liked latching his mouth- his teeth- onto something, but Jack enjoying the kink on the receiving end allowed him to really let loose with it. He _loved_ biting Jack; loved leaving little marks of his affections all over pale skin; loved the way Jack looked at the bruises fondly. Mark had gone a bit glassy-eyed as he gently continued rubbing himself to the pleasant memories and didn't even realize he was nibbling at his fingertips until he went to speak again. He blushed.

"I... guess I might’ve had a need or two like that. I mean, not for _that,_ but… yeah." At least, not for _that_ of Mark’s own free will. Maybe experience had just turned him off from the idea, but he might not be so against doing it to Jack if Jack enjoyed it.

“Yeah, it’s kinda new for me too, but it’s… yeah. Probably that strong...”

"You said... you're pretending it's me, right? My hands on your ass... my fingers up there, pushing into you.... I wonder if I could hit your prostate." It was all musings, really, but Mark happened to be accidentally dipping into dirty talk. He let the tip of his thumb rest between his lips thoughtfully; because it felt good.

Jack gave a moan and Mark shuddered. "Fuck, Jack...." If his boyfriend kept moaning like that there was no way he could keep his arousal a secret, and he didn't really know why he was trying. Jack was full blown masturbating so Mark shouldn't be ashamed or nervous, but maybe it was just the camera aspect. ‘ _They ruined me. I'm different,’_ came the age old, bitter thoughts.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m pretending it’s you, your hand, your fingers, just _you_ between my legs and you’d have that _smirk_ on your face, that goddamn smirk that you always get when you’re making me fall apart, a little bit smug and a lot of just _staring_ at me like I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen, and you just...you’d bite my leg. My thigh, because...because you need it and I need it and your hand’s busy, so…” Jack reached down, his eyelids fluttering in response to something before his gaze was honed in on Mark again. “ _Fuck_ , Mark, you’re so fucking hot…”

Mark couldn't stay soured or focused on _them_ when Jack was describing such a beautiful fantasy to him. The words translated to images in his mind- the same scenario Jack was picturing, but from a different perspective. When he spoke next his voice had dipped into the husky tone it always gained when he was aroused. "You mean like this?" It was easier to put on that smirk, now. Mark couldn't have done it just a few months ago. "Think it's called a smolder, Sean." The name rolled off his tongue and he didn't regret using it. Whether Jack knew Mark was getting off to this or not, they were having an intimate moment and it was easy for him to look at Jack as if he was the most incredible being in the cosmos. He could do that much without even thinking about it.  
  
“God _yes_ …” Jack shivered.

Mark found his teeth sinking into the meat of his free hand, unbidden. It was the closest he had to Jack's thigh but it made the fantasy all the more real and his own eyelashes fluttered as a pleasurable twinge bolted down into his dick. The skin between his teeth did little to conceal the moan that time; a moan that shifted to a whine when he stroked harder at the bulge in his underwear and dipped forward a bit from the friction. Embarrassed and flustered from Jack's compliment, he bit harder at his hand. "Sean...." The word was muffled by his own flesh but intelligible enough.

Jack shifted on the bed. “It’s not...it’s not your _fingers_ I want, Mark.” His breath noticeably hitched. “Though I’m sure they’d feel even better than mine. But I want...I want…”

“I know what you want.” Mark’s voice was a low rumble his microphone could barely pick up. He’d released his hand and wasn’t concerned about the little crescent indentations his teeth had left behind. All of his thoughts and attention were devoted to the man on his computer screen. Jack wanted Mark _so badly,_ and Mark wanted Jack too; wanted him more than his mind and body would allow. The limitations were driving them both _crazy_ and now long distance just added to the build up of sexual frustrations. Mark internally cursed ( _fuck it_ ) and pushed himself up enough to wiggle his boxers down around his knees. He couldn’t take the confinement anymore, no matter how loose the material might be.

Jack _had_ to know what Mark was doing by now. It was hard (ha) for even himself to decipher if his rapid, heavy breathing was from arousal or panic and he really hoped he wasn’t starting to hyperventilate. Mark knew the camera was the cause. He’d gotten used to being filmed, and even gotten over his nerves in relation to pleasuring himself in front of Jack, but now the two were combined and it made the situation volatile for Mark’s emotions. He tried to remind himself it was only Jack. Jack was the _only person_ seeing him- and it wasn’t even _all_ of him! He could stop stroking himself at any time. Stop the call; turn off the camera and even the computer. He could end it all at the drop of a hat but still Mark felt like he’d been put on display for the world again.

Okay, so he was definitely hyperventilating just a little bit. He needed a distraction, needed to keep talking to Jack; focus on _Jack._ On the things he was doing, what he was saying and what they both were fantasizing. Mark kept his touches light and quick because it was the exact opposite of what _they’d_ want. Just enough to satisfy his needs. “You want _me._ You want my… you want my _dick,_ Sean. Just admit it. You want the Markiplier D. You want more than just my fingers up your ass.” God, why was that so funny?! “You want more, you want it all, you want _me_ up there driving you absolutely nuts. Slamming you into the bed over and over ‘cause I bet you’d feel awesome, I bet it’d be fucking _great_ pounding into you _nnngh…_ ** _fuck…._** ” Mark’s breath hitched and he had to pause; squeezing at the base of his erection. He had to be careful, had to watch what he said and not let his brain get too far ahead of him. Echoing _them_ too closely would prove _disastrous._

Jack moaned. “Oh god, Mark, you absolute _doof_!” He was laughing rather breathlessly, but it soon petered out with a whimper, and Jack arched his back, pressing his shoulders into the bed. “Mark, _yes_ , yes I want you, I want your dick, I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my name, I love you, Mark, I… I love you, Mark. I love that you’re doing this with me. You’re so amazing, so incredible. I love you.”

Mark’s breath hitched again with just the hint of a sob and his voice cracked when he spoke, “I love you too.” He wasn’t really about to cry, or even all that upset. Mark’s emotions were just getting to him severely enough that it triggered a few dry sobs. Between his panic bubbling beneath the surface and the searing tingle of arousal on top, it had all built up to become overwhelming. It was why he stopped stroking himself; it was just too much. Too much stimulation from too many sources with too many contradicting feelings. It was all Mark could do to focus on Jack’s baby blues and not break off into his own subconscious entirely.

He’d dove headfirst into the idea a little too quickly, but he’d been horny, and missing his boyfriend. Getting ahead of himself was simply inevitable. What mattered was overcoming the issue without having a break down and ruining _everything;_ having a break down without Jack there to hold him and kiss his skin and sing to him in three different languages. Mark held himself and trembled and dug fingernails into his desk as he stared into Jack’s face that was nothing more than untouchable pixels. He felt like dying: either from his forced restraint or the distance between them. Mark’s forehead thunked against Jack’s image like he could just push through and reach his boyfriend through sheer willpower alone. He whimpered when it failed to succeed. “I need you so much right now….”

“Mark?” Jack’s voice shook. “Mark, Mark, love, look at me. Look at me, Mark. I’m right here. It’s okay, Mark. It’s okay. No one else is watching. You’re not recording. I’m not recording. It’s just you and me. It’s okay. You don’t have to do _anything_ , Mark, not even for me. Remember? All I need from you is to know that you’re okay with what we’re doing. Doesn’t matter _what_ we’re doing. I just need you to be happy. Be comfortable. Be comfortable _with_ me.”

Mark’s lip wibbled, and his face was an absolute _mess_ of emotions, but he managed to lift his forehead off the screen. He looked directly into the camera for a moment, out of habit, before redirecting the line of his gaze to Jack’s face. He wished more than anything he could reach out and cup it in his hands. He sucked in another forced breath. “I _want_ to do this for you. I want to do this _so bad,_ Sean. I kn-know I don’t _need_ to, I know. But I _want_ to, and it’s hard, and sometimes it feels like I really _can’t_ and I’m just so frustrated. I feel like I should be able to move past this and sometimes I _can,_ but times like now I just get so nervous and anxious and it’s _not fair._ It’s not fair, Sean, wh-what they’ve done. How they’ve fucked me up.” It was instances like these where Mark was _sure_ Jack deserved someone better than him. Someone without scars and limitations and an “issues” list a mile long.

“I love you, Mark. I love you.”

Mark’s next inhale shuddered with a half-suppressed sob. Jack said he loved _him;_ tagged the declaration with his name and everything. There was no one else the Irishman wanted more and to this day it _baffled_ him how willing he was to go the extra mile or persevere just for Mark. Simply because he _loved_ Mark. “S-Sean, just… just keep going. Keep doing what you were, please Sean, I _need_ the distraction. I’d rather be thinking about you than _them._ I wanna see your face when you finish. I _need_ you to finish, for me. Please. Just… just keep talking to me. Tell me what you’d want from me. What I could be doing to you, if I was there. If I wasn’t scared. Tell me about the me I used to be. The me you fell in love with.”

Jack was shaking his head by the time Mark finished. “No, Mark, _nope_ , not gonna do that, not gonna talk about past you. Because past you would _never_ have done this with me. Not past-you before _them_ , and not even past-you _after._ But I can tell you about future you. The you you’re _gonna_ be. The you we’re gonna work toward, in another month, when you fly out here and we stop living half the world away from each other.”

Mark’s heart fell, but Jack was still talking. It was okay if he didn’t talk about what Mark wanted just so long as he gave a running commentary for Mark’s brain to latch onto; so he could picture the scene in his head rather than _their_ faces or that awful room.

“You’re gonna be here, be _here_ , between my legs, buried balls-deep in my ass, and we’re _not_ gonna giggle like twelve-year-olds. We’re _not,_ because you’ll be leaning over me, boxing me in with your arms, kissing me like you need me to breathe. You’re so beautiful, Mark, and you’ve got me, you’re keeping _me_ safe, cause I’ve never...I’ve never done this before, and _I’m_ scared, but you’re being slow and gentle and _smoldering_ at me, and it’s too much, it’s too much and _not fucking enough…”_

Mark closed his eyes to focus better and _swore_ he could see it, the exact scenario Jack was describing. If he stopped gripping at his desk, he could pretend he was in the position Jack wanted. He could hunch forward as if he _were_ hovering over a flushed, panting, _desperate_ Sean McLoughlin on their shared bed. His closed hand became Jack’s stretched hole and he groaned. “Wanna kiss you so bad….” There was no real way to replicate that, unfortunately.

So he put forth his efforts into what he _could_ mimic: the slow, even thrusts into his own hand, the sounds Jack happened to _actually_ be making; just from his fingers rather than Mark’s dick. He was scared. He was timid and giddy and _breathless_ but so was Jack. Jack was still going.

“And you know it, you _tease_ , but you wait until I’m begging you, Mark, _please_ , love, _please_ , and I’ve got my legs around yours and my fingers on your back, _there_ , and you pull out and _slam_ back into me oh god, _Mark_ , Mark, like that, just like that!”

Jack was trembling in his arms and clinging to every spot he could as he begged Mark to _move;_ to go faster, deeper, _harder_ until he could find that spot. The spot they always told you to try and find when doing butt sex. The guy equivalent of a G-spot and the one thing which would set Jack to writhing and squirming and crying out beneath Mark like he’d been touched by some perverse angel of god. To Jack, Mark _was_ an angel.

Mark was lost to the fantasy. Jack eagerly voicing his approval served as the perfect background noise to keep it going. Every thrust into his hand was a thrust into Jack. A brush against his prostate which would trigger another pleasured cry or babbling plea. There weren’t cameras; there didn’t need to be. It was just the two of them on a bed together making love and Jack _was_ ** _loving_** it. Mark’s harsh breathing had at last drifted back to something more arousal based while he smoothly pumped his cock over and over. His free hand rose up to slide beneath his shirt. It was easy to locate one of his nipples and he teased it with a low groan. Pretending the fingers belonged to Jack sent him reeling and almost threw off the rhythm of his other hand. “Touch me, Sean, _oooh_ touch me, t-touch me please, touch me more _there,_ nngh… y-you feel so good…. So good, Sean, _ahh…._ ”

Jack’s narrative was falling apart, fraying into a babbled mess of Mark’s name and _god_ and _more_ and _please_. He was panting heavily as he worked to keep going. “Ungh, Mark, _yes_ , yes of course, of course, you’re over me, on top of me, and your nipples are too tempting. I’ve still got your back with one hand, still clutching tight over those letters, but I love your nipples too, love getting my hands on them, rolling one between my fingers, just like you like it… Mark, Mark, touch _me_ , please Mark, please let it be your hand on me, kiss me, Mark, I’m so close, so close…!”

Mark wished he had more hands to emulate what Jack was saying, but he only had two, and he'd rather have them on his pleasure spots than the lettering on his back. That was more a comfort thing and he could pretend fingers were pressing there decently enough while he tried to keep up with the words. He followed the actions Jack described to the letter as he rolled his nipple between his fingers. _Boy_ , did he _ever_ like it. They still had a lot to learn about each other's bodies but they'd made some amazing progress. Between the hand teasing his chest and the one stroking his dick, he was dangerously close to cumming.  
  
However, Jack needed him., so he picked up where his lover had left off; voice husky and breathless with arousal. "Sean, I'm touching you. I'm kissing you so hard we can't even breathe right. I'm pounding into you so hard and fast now it's a complete mess but I'm hitting that spot, so it doesn't matter. I've got a hand on your dick and another one in your hair and it's just our mouths supporting me. Our mouths and your ass and I squeeze your dick- squeeze it, like you're clenching around me and it's all too much, too much- ahh- ah fuck, Sean!! Fuck!!"  
  
Mark came into his hand with a loud cry; vaguely catching a similar shout of his own name from Jack’s end. He held his spasming dick tightly for a moment before slowly stroking himself through the receding waves of his orgasm, slumping back into his chair with the intent of curling up in post-release bliss, his face the epitome of enraptured relief. Then the leg of his chair snapped from the sudden shift in weight and he was sent toppling to the floor with a stunned yelp.

“Mark? Mark!? Mark, what the…?”

"My chair broke! Again!!"  
  
Mark shouted indignantly from where he lay flopped over on the floor. His limbs were wrapped awkwardly over and around the chair from how he'd toppled backwards and he was pretty sure he'd managed to smear his own jizz in at least five different places on the way down- yup, there was some on the wall. Damn it.  
  
Jack was laughing. "Oh god, Mark, you scared me! But if it's just your chair..."  
  
Nothing of Mark’s was really hurt beyond maybe his pride, a little. Just like the last time, and after the initial shock and anger wore off Mark was left finding the whole situation rather humorous. His low chuckle was quick to morph into an actual laugh. The kind of laugh he used to give so freely: light and genuine. He reached up to grasp at the edge of his desk with his clean hand and managed to pull himself up onto his heels. The upper half of his head- red floof and all- peeked into view of his webcam. "I can't believe I just climaxed so hard I broke the chair again. Jack!! The Hell kind of Devil's magic do you use on me?! Holy fuck. I got cum _everywhere_. Oh my _god_. That's gross. _I'm_ gross Jack this is all your fault."

"It's not _Devil's_ magic, Mark. It's _Irish_ magic."

"Well come use your Irish magic to fix my chair!" Mark countered through his giggling. He was too tired and messy to try fixing the chair right away. Instead, he awkwardly tugged up his filthy boxers and stayed half-bent, half-crouched in front of his computer. A majority of his weight was resting forward on his arm so he could take in Jack on his screen. Still a bit flushed, skin slick with sweat and muscles relaxed after his orgasm; there was a beautiful light to Jack’s eyes which could only be rivaled by the smile sent Mark's way, and his heart ached.

"I love you. Dork."  
  
"Love you too, dork." It took one to know one and they were quite the pair. Mark sighed and ran clean fingers through his hair. There was still a hint of a chuckle on his breath. "I just came on camera...." He murmured it reverently; he could hardly believe it. "I just jerked it on camera.... I..." It wasn't a recording- it was only for Jack, just like when they were alone together in bed. That's all. Mark floofed his hair for fortification more than power while his expression played an emotional tug-of-war between uncomfortable and satisfied.

“You did…” Jack was still smiling. “You did, and you were _amazing_ , Mark. It was _so_ much better than just fantasizing alone.” He sighed. “I wish I could kiss you. I wish we didn’t have to wait another month. Mm.”

Jack chuckled to himself. “Wrap your arms around yourself, ‘kay? Cause I’d be hugging you right now, holding you tight. I love you, Mark. So much.”

Mark did as his boyfriend suggested and smiled some more himself; closing his eyes. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.


	97. 12/18: Pure Imagination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want to view paradise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I lied. THIS is the real bonus chapter.
> 
> :P

“Maaaark!” Jack was practically bouncing in his seat as Mark answered the Skype call. He held up a plain brown box with an unfamiliar shipping label, shaking it slightly. “Mark, I got a package today that I didn't order! Is this what you meant by sending me a present?”

It had been about a week since Mark told Jack to expect a gift in the mail. Mark had forbidden him from opening it until they were in a call, as he wanted to see Jack's reaction. “Can I open it now? Is it a puppy?” Jack bounced again, setting the box on the desk in front of him, his excitement obvious.

Mark couldn’t help but chuckle in fond amusement as he leaned back in his own desk chair. He knew Jack would be excited to get a present from him, but actively seeing it in person- well, kind of- was so much better than his imagination. Part of him wished he were actually there, in front of Jack, so he could give him a hug and feel the Irishman’s warm arms wrapped around him.

Another part was too antsy and embarrassed about the actual contents of the shipping box to have been capable of facing down his lover up close. His heel was lightly tapping against the floor while he kept his arms crossed over his chest, expression forcibly neutral beyond a soft smile. “Nah, Jack, mine’s coming via stork.” He scoffed. “Yes, you can open it, you neon green doof. I hope the puppy question is just you being adorably silly because there’s obviously no holes in that box, and it would have to be the smallest puppy on the planet.”

“Puppies start small!” Jack protested. “I really do hope it's not a puppy. I've been shaking it around a lot…” Jack tore into the box. It was pretty well taped up, and it took some effort to break into.

Mark watched with a growing anxiety and trepidation. He started to doubt himself. What if he’d gone too far? What if Jack took it the wrong way? When Jack lifted up his gift and verbalized his surprise, face a _very_ adorable shade of red, Mark’s heart skipped a few beats out of irrational fear.

“...a dildo?” Jack laughed, then buried his face in a hand. “Oh my god, is this the one I was teasing you over?” Jack turned the package over in his hands.

If Mark had sent any of his friends a _dildo_ before everything that happened, they’d laugh it off as some stupid joke and probably use it as a prop- mostly likely _off_ camera. Jack wasn’t just a friend anymore, though, and a lot had changed in the past year. As Mark’s boyfriend, getting a sex toy in the mail tended to have some more extensive connotations than just “this was funny and I wanted to make you laugh”. Especially since they’d hunted the particular toy out together online.

Ever since Mark had called Jack mid-masturbation, they had been trying to explore what they could do long-distance. They'd attempted to watch more porn together, which had led to a discussion about vibrators and then checking a sex shop online. From there, it had only been natural to start making comments on all the products available, and natural curiosity had sent them exploring…

They’d found one toy Mark felt was quite similar in size to his own, and Jack had dubbed it “the Mark.” Seeing Jack’s enthusiasm, Mark’s mind was made up, and he’d secretly ordered the toy.

He grinned a bit sheepishly at Jack, his own cheeks tinged a light pink. Laughter was good; laughter meant Jack wasn’t upset or offended. Some of Mark’s doubts and fears were eased as he let his muscles relax. “Yeah, that’s the one. Basically my dick in a box, you’re fucking welcome. Y’know, seeing as I’m not there and all. It’s a half-decent substitute.”

Jack laughed again, working the silicone dick free from its package. “I love it. I'm going to name him Mini Mark, and I'm going to take him to bed with me every night, and make sure he's well-exercised and always happy.” He grinned unabashedly at Mark.

“Oh my god it looks even sillier when you handle it Jack, please.” It was Mark’s turn to bury his face in a hand as his cheeks darkened a few shades, but there was a definite grin plastered to his face. There was something about watching Jack put his hands all over a fake dick that just absolutely tickled the immature side of him. He was relieved his brain didn’t equate the sight to… certain other things. “Great, so even though I _didn’t_ get you a puppy, you’re gonna act like I did anyway. A dilduppy. Pupildo? Geez, okay, that is so wrong.”

“Thank you! You're always so thoughtful…”

Sliding his hand down his face so he could look at Jack again, Mark’s grin simmered down into a pleased smile. Any lingering tensions he had about gifting Jack the sex toy evaporated away in the wake of Jack’s friendly teasing. “Only the best for my boo. Just don’t get too attached and replace me with a hunk of molded silicone, okay?”

“Well now, I don't know. Mini Mark might be able to make me happier than you can…” Jack cradled the dildo against his cheek and sighed. “Ah, but it sucks at hugging back. Poo. Can it kiss?”

“Heeey….” Mark pouted at Jack a bit, but snorted at the question. Always good to know Jack wasn’t being serious; just for his paranoid brain’s sake. “I mean, _you_ could probably kiss it, but like the hug it’s not gonna kiss you back or anything. That’d be weird. Also, you’re cradling a dick to your face, Jack. A dick. A dildo. I cannot believe- _ohmygod._ ”

Jack had just lifted the dildo and given it a peck on the tip of its molded head. He paused, drawing back and cocking his head to the side. “Huh. Wonder how realistic that was…” He glanced down briefly at his own lap.

Mark was caught up between blushing his face off or laughing himself straight out of his chair. He turned into a fit of blushing giggles as he pressed fingers to his face again; doubling over slightly. “I’d call you a fuckin’ goober but the fact you’re playing with a toy dick just makes it sound too wrong, jesus Jack, just ‘cause it’s a toy that doesn’t mean you can play around with it like a kid. I’m dying here.” Mark wheezed gently and brushed briefly at his eyes. “Well I told you it was the closest one to my own that we saw on that website.”

“And you know how much I want to kiss your actual dick…” Jack winked saucily, waving the dildo at the camera. “I bet you'd be warmer. Taste better too.”

“Jesus Christ….” Mark muttered under his breath. He was experiencing a clash of emotions at the moment as Jack waved the _dildo_ around. Part of him just wanted to laugh and laugh because, well, _dicks._ Another was beginning to gently burn in a pleasant sort of way he knew would result in either dirty tissues or dirty underwear and Mark wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. However, apparently Jack was willing to play, so he figured he’d test the boundaries.

If only to satisfy his growing lust and curiosity. “Definitely. Still, I _did_ say it was a half-decent replacement during my absence…. You could always try it out if you want. Don’t you have a terrible gag reflex anyway? You could get some crucial dick sucking practice in.”

Jack grinned. He settled back in his chair, tapping the dildo against his lower lip. “Hmm, you've got a point, you know. Wouldn't want to choke on the actual deal. But would that make _you_ happy? Watching me try to suck this dick in your stead?”

Mark’s blush crawled up to his ears. Somehow, it always managed to take him by surprise when Jack so quickly and eagerly played along with his challenges. Often times, he found himself rapidly falling in over his head, but still he was thrilled by the look in Jack’s blue eyes. His actual dick was certainly finding the entire scene enjoyable as he leaned back in his chair, gripping at the edge of his desk. “Well… I dunno. I like seeing you suck other places on my body. Maybe if it’s not actually attached to me, it’ll be easier for me to keep my head. In any case, you know I like watching you… and if the dick sucking itself freaks me out, we can stop. Right?”

“Just think of it like a porno. Dicks on a screen, starring your favorite Irish twink.”

Mark snorted. “I dunno if I should pity or respect you for calling yourself a twink so easily.”

“Hey, it's what I'm called on pornhub, right?” Jack lifted the dildo again, then frowned. “Er, actually...if I'm gonna put this in my mouth, I'm thinking I should wash it first, right? Five minutes?”

Mark shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Go scrub that thing with some soap and water. I can make myself comfortable in the meantime, if we’re really gonna do this….”

Jack smacked a kiss against his hand and blew it at Mark as he pushed his chair back. “We're gonna try this. Five minutes.”

Mark watched Jack go, and took a minute just to regain his composure. He combed fingers through his hair and drew deep breaths until his blush had fully faded and his heart rate had slowed. He was still feeling quite aroused, but it was easy to ignore when relief was promised on the near horizon.

Biting at his lip, Mark finally pushed away from his desk to go grab a few items from his bedroom. Nothing crazy, really, just some lube to help with the friction if he decided to touch himself. He snagged a box of tissues as well to clean up the inevitable mess. Pausing in the hallway, he decided to shut Chica into her crate just so she wouldn’t come barging into his recording room and interrupt them. Making sure he had one of Jack’s bracelets on his wrist as a touchstone in case things went South, Mark returned to his desk with slightly giddy anticipation.

Jack still wasn’t back by the time he sat down, so he organized his items and made himself comfortable. He hadn’t been wearing pants to begin with, but he fingered the hem of his shirt. After some contemplation, he decided to wait until Jack returned so he could do a little strip tease for his boyfriend.

He didn’t have to wait _too_ long, though he felt like it’d been more than just five minutes. Mark’s gaze snapped up to the screen as he heard a clatter of items and his eyes widened; breath hitching softly. Jack was grinning, a bottle of lube and a condom now sitting before him on the desk. “...get a few ideas while you were gone…?”

Jack shrugged. “I figured it would be better to have everything here than to stop _again_ if things get heated,” Jack explained. “We don't have to use everything. I just wanted to be prepared.”

Mark flushed a little himself and shifted in his seat. “Yeah… I kind’ve did the same. Went and got some stuff while you were gone….” A teasing smile twitched onto his lips; humor was _always_ the best method to dispel his anxiety. “You put it in your mouth while you were in the bathroom, didn’t you? And then you thought about putting it in your butt.”

There was an explosion of color across Jack’s face, instantly answering Mark’s question for him. “Shut up! I didn't...Okay, I maybe...It might have slipped…” He fingered the toy and glanced away. “I mean, what else do you do with one of these…?”

Mark couldn’t help it, he chuckled. Jack’s reaction was expected but priceless and adorable. “It might’ve slipped, right. Slipped straight into your mouth. Totally believing you here, man.” He grinned, bemused, before giving a languid shrug of his shoulders. One of his hands had dropped to gently grind the heel of his palm over the bulge in his boxers. For once, he didn’t make any effort to hide what he was probably doing from the camera. “Throw them at people? Film them hitting the floor in slow motion? I dunno, it’s a dick. Guess you better just pick a hole.” He burst into giggles halfway through his own words and had to stop teasing himself.

“Neeeeahhhh…” Jack ‘flew’ the dildo at the camera as if he could boop Mark in the face from five thousand miles away. Mark played along, falling back as if the dildo had hit him in the face; utterly dramatic. “Speaking of, _this does not get out_. Or else I'll say you bought it for me.”

Still chuckling, Mark grinned at Jack and supplied a little thumbs up. “Okay, okay, I won’t say a word about it. I promise. Not just for my own sake, but… y’know I don’t really like to embarrass people anymore….” Especially not on camera. Mark would still joke and tease, but a chunk of his old style of humor had been lost in the wake of his broadcasted humiliation. Even his vlogs had been affected, as he had to carefully avoid any challenges or gags which would be too self-deprecating and possibly triggering.

Jack grinned and nodded, settling back in his seat again. “Okay. So. Nondisclosure agreement dealt with...you bought this for me. What did _you_ imagine me doing with it?”

Mark’s flush returned with a vengeance at that and he almost squeaked, but he managed to cover up the sound by awkwardly clearing his throat. His free hand reached back to rub anxiously at his neck as he stared at Jack on his computer screen. “I… well… I kind’ve bought it as just a joke, at first…? But, I mean… once I saw you actually get your hands on it… and then kiss the damn thing, well…. My imagination _might’ve_ kicked into gear a little….” His gaze dropped and he gave a little cough. “Thought about you… taking it all into your mouth… acting like it was mine. You always say how much you want it and I’ve pictured it sometimes, but now that you’ve got an actual dick in your hands…. I think it’d be hot.” His face was burning to the tips of his ears.

“I do want it…” Jack shifted his hold on the dildo, grasping it near the base with one hand and letting his fingers play up the shaft with the other. “I've...thought of it a lot. What it would be like to see you, touch you, _taste_ you, without any cotton in the way…”

Mark's mouth went dry and he wasn't sure if it was because of Jack's words or the sight of those knobby fingers teasing at the toy. He swore if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel them running along him instead. The subtle brush of calloused fingertips and the gentle squeeze at his base. The thought had a groan bubbling in his throat already and his palm returned to his crotch, pressing slightly. “Fuck…” He hissed, biting at his lip.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, continuing to rub the dick. “When we actually get to this point, I bet you'd be eager. You wouldn't ask for it, cause you're a bloody tease who wants me to cave first, but I know you'd be just as eager…”

Mark had felt Jack's heat and the moistness of his tongue seeping through his boxers in the past. He tried to picture that subdued, muffled sensation hitting his skin directly, like Jack described. Mark moaned softly. Jack kept rubbing at the toy, and Mark’s own hand mimicked the gesture.

Jack looked into his camera with a smile. “You'd be right, though. I _would_ cave first. I wanna suck you off, Mark. _Please._ ”

Mark’s lips twitched into a grin again even as he could feel his breathing pick up. It took a lot of will to not simply shove his hand into his underwear. “I’d let you know I wanted it… I’d suck at your skin until you got the message….” Mark groaned again when Jack _begged_ , squeezing at his own dick through the material and feeling it jump. “H-how could I say no when you ask me like that? Hope you've been… practicing with your gag reflex….”

“As if I could hold myself back after you let me…” Jack grinned at his camera, then leaned in to kiss the dildo again. He paused.

Mark swore he could feel those lips on his own dick. He knew what they felt like on other places, after all.

“Actually...if your dick's out already, I'm wearing way too much…” Jack always had to be at least as naked as Mark, if not more so. It was one of the ways they kept Mark's anxiety at bay, by making Jack symbolically more vulnerable.

Mark huffed out a shaky laugh at Jack's realization and ducked his head a little. He wanted to say he was still in his boxers, but understood Jack was referring to the scene.

Jack set the dildo down and leaned back to take his shirt off. Hungrily, Mark watched Jack reveal the expanse of pale, lean muscled skin he'd come to crave. His mouth actually watered a little with the urge to bite and kiss, but Jack was thousands of miles away. Swallowing down a disappointed whine, he let his eyes rove over Jack's body and sunk teeth into the meat of his free hand instead.

“Better?” Jack asked. “More?”

Mark gave a little nod, hesitated, then nodded again. Mark wanted Jack to be comfortable, and he couldn't see below Jack's waist since he was sitting at his desk. It wasn't a big deal. Releasing his hand, he let out a puff of breath and wiggled in his seat. “I want… I know my dick’s already out, but I'm still wearing a shirt…” He glanced down at said garment as if to emphasize his dilemma. “...and I feel kinda silly. Want me to return the favor?” Mark knew Jack loved watching him strip just as much, and it would help Mark settle into the scenario easier.

Jack chuckled, picking up the dick again and letting his fingers rub over the shaft. “We really were too fucking eager, but it's been _ages_ since I had my hands on you. Yes, god, _absolutely_. I love to see you shirtless.” He continued to toy with the dildo while Mark set to work.

Mark's fingers mimicked Jack's again, for a moment, drawing another soft groan from his lips. At Jack's encouragement, he forced himself to stop and gently gripped the hem of his shirt. Thankfully, he'd just had Jack on speaker and wasn't bothering with a headset. All he had to worry about were his glasses as he slowly pulled the shirt up over his head; peeling it away _without_ getting stuck this time. Which was good, because Jack wouldn't have been able to help him.

Pulling the shirt off with a slight flourish which left his glasses skewed but his hair delightfully ruffled, Mark combed fingers through the black fluff and tossed the clothing aside- he wouldn't be needing it. Knowing the fact he was at his desk limited Jack's view, Mark straightened up and leaned back to show off as much of his muscled arms and torso as possible. He tucked his chin up and adjusted his glasses as he fixed Jack with a crooked, dashing smile. “How's this for you?”

“Oh, that's nice…” Jack was staring. “God, Mark, you are so fucking sexy like this, naked and hard and wanting me...I want you too. Can you feel it? Feel me?” He closed his hand more firmly around the dildo, fisting it harder. “I love you…” He dipped his head down again, running his tongue around the sculpted head.

“Ohgod, fuck, h-hang on…” Mark shimmied out of his boxers with far less grace than when he removed his shirt, snatching the bottle of lube he'd brought along. At least he'd managed to think ahead and prepare for once. Squeezing an adequate amount onto his hand, Mark used the time he was watching Jack fist and tongue at the dildo to warm it up by rubbing his fingers together. He wasn't quite as hard as the toy yet, but it was easy to pretend as he wrapped the slick hand around his own base.

He tried to gauge Jack's grip and mimic it; releasing a low groan. “Okay… o-okay, yeah… I can feel you.. oh.. I can feel you….” Mark breathed, watching Jack's lewd actions with heavily lidded eyes. He couldn't get a tongue on his dick, but if he brushed his wet thumb along the head it was pretty close and that time he gave more of a moan. The perspective was weird, with him looking at Jack on the screen but also seemingly “looking down” to watch Jack touch and tongue at his dick, but it felt good. It felt good, and Jack's voice made his heart ache with longing as he relaxed back into his chair. “Love you… love you so fucking much… love how it feels when you touch me, when you t-taste me.. nngh….”

Jack grinned before he really got to work, running his tongue along the length of the toy over and over again, long licks from root to tip, a series of short playful licks, wrapping his tongue around the shaft. He mouthed up the side before finally, _finally_ pressing his lips around the head.

Mark did his best to mimic every lick with his fingers. It was tricky, and didn't feel quite right, but the friction pleasured him all the same. He'd also been right; watching Jack suck off the dildo was incredibly hot. He was certain the only way it could be better was if it were his actual dick.

Jack tongued the edge around the head, truly giving it his all, even if it was just a toy and his gag reflex prevented him from swallowing much of it down. Mark was a little impressed, and utterly endeared by the lengths Jack was going to. He could tell the enthusiasm had dwindled, even if Jack was trying to hide it. He couldn't imagine drooling all over a hunk of silicone would be very enjoyable. Huffing and flushed with sweat beading on his bared skin, Mark loosely gripped his now full erection as he spoke. He let his voice dip down into the honeyed tone that drove Jack wild and put on his very best smolder. If he couldn't touch Jack, then he would pleasure him in other ways. “So good, Sean, mm… fuck, your tongue’s too fucking flexible, even like this. You kissing me weak in the knees is nothing compared to this. Your mouth is… hah… it's so warm…. So good to me, Sean, so fucking hot when you're sucking on me….”

Jack had looked up, and Mark could see the surprise shining bright in blue eyes. Mark knew he had to be careful. Dirty talk was always such a land mine field for him. He avoided certain phrases or words while he stared Jack down with dark, lust-filled brown eyes. “...you can touch yourself, if you can… one hand is fine… I've got your mouth, anyway, please touch yourself for me Sean….”

Jack moaned around his mouthful of silicone, pulling one hand away from stroking the dildo to reach down out of Mark's sight. He moaned again, and Mark could only assume he was touching himself too.

“That's it… there you go, Sean… mm.. I love you… I love you so fucking much… want you to feel good. Want you to enjoy this too, enjoy me- me, my dick, that's what you're sucking on and it feels amazing, Sean….” Mark pressed out a moan a bit louder than it might have come naturally; attempting to emphasize how hard he was breathing, how aroused he was. It wasn't faking. The pleasure Mark felt was real, but much of it could be lost through speaker and camera.

Mark’s hips twitched up into his own hand and he wished Jack could feel it; feel how hard and throbbing he was. Mark hoped Jack was the same, or at least close. He used his free hand to tweak at one of his nipples. He longed for Jack's touch, his roaming hands, his teasing fingers. He moaned and arched and rocked into his fist, hoping he could look as sexy and attractive as Jack looked to him right now. “Wanna touch you, Sean. Want you to touch me.. nngh… god, Sean, tell me where to touch you… tell me what you want….”

Jack pulled the dildo out of his mouth and looked up at the camera again, licking his lips. “I can't talk if my mouth is full of your plastic dick, goober,” he teased. “But God, look at you, I wanna touch you so bad…”

Mark snorted, peeking at Jack from under his lashes. “Well I was expecting you to take my dick out of your mouth, _goober_ ,” he teased right back. He huffed a hot breath, whining softly as he pinched at a nipple again. He tried to do it the way Jack always did; tease his body the way Jack would if given the chance.

His head lolled back against the headrest of his chair. Mark's gaze was unfocused and lidded, with his lips parted so he could maintain his steady breaths. He arched gently into empty air, aching for Jack's hands; his mouth. He dragged his own nails almost unnoticeably down his chest and cried out softly. “ _God,_ I want you so bad. Want you to touch me; tease me- fuck, Sean. You don't even need to suck me off, but you did, and it felt so good… felt so good to have your mouth on me, haahh… wanna bite… wish I could sink my teeth into you….” Mark bit at his lip instead, but not too hard. “...do you want me inside of you, Sean?” He let the words roll and drip off his tongue like the sweetest molasses, wanting Jack to feel each syllable tumbling down the vertebrae of his spine.

Jack looked sharply at his monitor, then at the camera. He whined in the back of his throat, squeezing the dildo. “I…” Jack cleared his throat and tried again, fisting the toy once more. “You know I want you, Mark. I always want you. Do you...do you want to fuck me? Tonight? Now?”

Mark let out a breathy little sigh, eyelashes fluttering. He'd settled into a gentle, even pace of stroking his dick and toying with his nipple while Jack mulled over his words. It wasn't enough to push him any closer to an orgasm, but it was enough to keep him hard and interested. He let his eyes slip closed for just a moment so he could picture it: both of them on the bed, naked; Jack's lips lightly swollen and spit-slick from sucking Mark's dick. He'd be covered in bites and hickeys as he stared up at Mark with big, blue eyes. Still holding his cock, still so eager for it, completely prepared to shove it up his ass. Mark moaned and forced his eyes open again.

Jack wasn't willing because of conditioning, threats or brainwashing. He wanted Mark’s dick for his own pleasure. Mark wasn't forcing or manipulating him to do anything. If he were actually there, in front of Jack, he would have hesitated. Would have felt twice the anxiety rise up inside of him until he was shaking his head. Except Jack wasn't truly with Mark. It wouldn't be Mark fucking Jack, technically, but the toy. The toy Jack had full control over. There wasn't really a way for Mark to fuck this up. “Yes… yes, Sean, if you want to take me, you can. I will. I love you, Sean. Please let me show you how much. Let me love you; let me _make_ love to you. Whatever you want. I want to make you feel good.”

Jack looked down at the dildo again, then further down at his lap. “Heh...have to get my pants off for that. You take over for a minute. Keep looking gorgeous. I'd offer to give you a show, but…”

They both knew this wasn't really going to happen anytime soon. Mark was barely okay with touching Jack's naked body when it was hidden from view. Yet Jack hesitated with his hands on his pants, glancing at the camera. “ _Do_ you want a show? I mean, technically, I'm just on a screen for you. Like the porn. Right?”

Mark’s breath hitched, and his movements paused so he could stare back at Jack. His eyes were still hazy with lust and arousal, but there was just a hint of clarity there. It was born of fear and anxiety and too much experience, but Jack had a point. It wouldn’t be in person. Mark would be under no threat if Jack whipped his dick out for him to see. It _would_ be just like looking up another porn, but with Jack as the showcase. Mark would be lying if he claimed to not enjoy any show Jack put on for him.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, Mark couldn’t decide if it would be better for him to continue touching himself or to stop entirely. He wanted to focus on Jack, on the big reveal, but if he became hyperfocused on the fact Jack had his dick out he could panic. Letting his hand drop, he hugged an arm about his middle; pretending it was Jack’s arm wrapped around him. Slowly, he started to stroke himself again.

“I…” Another deep breath. “...I want to see. I wanna see you- _all_ of you. While it’s absolutely impossible for you to….” Mark trailed off, his lips trembling at the traitorous thoughts, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t… I know you wouldn’t do anything it’s just my brain is stupid and even though I trust you it doesn’t fucking care, and you don’t deserve that you don’t…” Mark stopped again and narrowly avoided pressing his lube covered hand to his face. Unwilling to break his self-created hug, he tucked his face into his shoulder instead with a shuddering inhale.

“Hey, hey. Here, Mark.” Jack leaned forward. “It's okay, Mark. It's okay. We can do this as slow as you need. Are you hugging yourself for me? Because you know I'd be hugging you now if I could. My hand's on your scar, Mark, okay? You're mine. I'm yours. You're safe. I have you. You're safe.”

Mark sniffled, though he hadn’t started crying yet, and forced his face away from his shoulder so he could follow Jack’s voice. He realized Jack was no longer looking at his screen, but directly into the camera, and his heart jumped a little inside his chest. There was a slight blur in one corner of the screen as well; probably Jack’s fingers. Mark wished more than anything he could feel them on his skin, his face.

“I-I’m sorry, you were fine, w-we were doing fine I just got into my own head again and I… a-and I lost it….” Mark’s voice trembled as his lips and jaw continued to quiver with his emotions. Still, they’d stopped escalating, and Jack was slowly dragging them back down to a manageable simmer. “I wish you could touch me. I want you to hug me so bad, Sean, I miss you. I miss you so much…” Mark sniffled again and hugged himself a little tighter. He longed for the familiar press of fingers to his scarred back. “I want to be safe with you,” he whispered,” I want to believe I can be safe with you more than anything.”

“I love you,” Jack murmured. “I love you, and in a couple weeks, you'll be back here in Ireland for six months, and then I will be in L.A. for six months and we're not going to have to do this apart ever again, okay? It's just a couple more weeks before I can hug you tight. We can do this, Mark.”

Mark stared at Jack, his face crumpled with emotion, and drew another shuddering inhale. He squeezed at his midsection a bit tighter, just for a few moments longer, then let go. He scrubbed at his face a little and managed a nod or two, eyes closed. “Okay.” Another deep breath, slightly steadier than the last. “O-okay. A few weeks. I-I can do a few weeks. We can do it. I love you.” His eyes opened to stare into Jack’s gorgeous blues and his mouth cracked into the weakest of smiles. “I’m sorry. I’m a big, dumb doofy-doo. I ruined the mood we had going.”

“And after all that work I did making out with Mini Mark too!” Jack smiled back. “It's okay. If we need to stop here, we can.” It wouldn't be the first time a promising encounter had slammed into the brick wall of Mark's anxieties.

Mark snorted softly, almost more breath than sound, at hearing the nickname again. Seeing Jack smile flooded him with warmth in a more subtle way than his words did and Mark grasped onto the feeling like it was a lifeline. Slowly, he took several deep breaths until the tremors in his body went away. He kept breathing, still feeling a near erection resting against his thigh, and then focused on Jack once more. A determination had settled in his eyes and his jaw set as he returned his grip to his dick; just holding it for now and adjusting to the feel of his hand. “I want to try. I want to keep going, Sean. I wanna see… wanna see _you._ All of you. I meant it when I said that.”

Jack looked at Mark. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, but I'm gonna have to change camera positions. Otherwise I'm gonna be contorted into an awkward position, and that won't be fun. So...here.” He stood and pushed his chair back a bit. “You direct me so you'll be able to see as much of me as you want when I'm sitting in the chair again, okay?”

Mark drew one more breath. “Okay….” He watched Jack move around his recording room and adjust his equipment; idly giving himself a stroke or two in an effort to fully reclaim his flagging erection. Thankfully, the brief glimpses of Jack’s shirtless torso- the stretch and pull of his muscles as he moved- provided some hefty encouragement. “Okay… so… you’re wearing underwear, right? You can… take off your pants, on camera. You can face me- I mean, I’d love to see your ass, but you don’t have to.. to hide. I… I’d like to see your face, if it’s possible, but if it’s only from like the shoulders down… I might be okay with that.”

“Okay, so...can you see the chair?” Jack leaned over for a moment, fiddling with his equipment. “Okay...Okay, I think that's good.” Jack took a deep breath and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. “Remember, you can stop this at any time…”

Mark’s eyes locked onto the positioning of Jack’s thumbs, and his heart rate skyrocketed. He leaned back in his chair, as if he were leaning himself further away from Jack in person. Eyes slightly wide, some of the color drained away from his face and he quickly stammered, “I changed my mind! Can’t do the front- turn around, please, just… take them off, facing away from me….” Shivering, he awkwardly reached behind his back to press his own fingers against the scar there. The men in the room had rarely needed to show Mark their asses; almost always, they were shucking their pants with their crotches shoved directly into his face. Maybe if Jack did the opposite, it would be easier for Mark not to immediately panic at the sight.

“Why Mark, if you wanted to see my fluffy butt, you should have just said so!” Jack turned around obediently, purposely sticking out his butt and giving it a wiggle for Mark.

Mark’s next breath dissolved into a wheezing giggle at the callback. “Oh c’mon, you’re really never gonna let me live that down, are you??” Jack’s attempt at humor was successful in disarming a majority of the panic that had sparked within Mark, though, and he was grateful. Plus, he _did_ like to see Jack’s “fluffy butt”. What he wasn’t expecting to see was the tattoo resting just above it, and immediately his heart seized almost painfully in his chest. He pressed his fingers harder against his scar and focused on that detail. Those were his initials. Letters those men would _never_ put on their bodies. It was Jack’s body, and Jack wasn’t dangerous. The little butt wiggle conveyed that much, and Mark soon found himself fighting off another amused grin. “Oh, if only I had a wet towel and less distance between us… your fluffbutt would be _snapped,_ Sean.”

“Whose butt, _mine_ …?” Jack twisted around to look over his shoulder at the camera, pouting his lips out and touching one finger to them in an exaggerated pinup pose.

“No. The dildo’s.” Mark deadpanned in the wake of Jack’s silliness. He shook his head at the exaggerated pose, but there was still a smile on his face. As Jack tugged his boxers down some to reveal about half his ass, Mark sputtered softly. _“Nerd.”_ Still, it was _just_ a butt cheek. Mark had seen plenty of butt cheeks in his life and Jack’s wasn’t all that different. He exhaled steadily and gave his dick another few strokes. Admittedly, it was a little odd, since he was interacting with the “porn” playing on his screen. However, it was _Jack,_ and Mark would never get tired of ogling his boyfriend’s body. “...keep going?”

“If I'm a nerd, but you like it, what does that make you?” Jack wondered aloud.

“A nerd lover, I guess. Makes sense. Doesn’t make you any less of one, though.” Mark stuck his tongue out a bit; enjoying the easy, playful atmosphere. It was about as far from the room as they could get.

Jack dropped his other hand to the other side of his pants, pulling that side down too. Mark stared, caught up between the urge to giggle or ogle, as Jack full-on mooned the camera- and him. Just an ass. A really pale, fluffy ass, but an ass all the same.

Jack took another breath and let the boxers drop to the floor. “Whoops…”

Jack’s legs were still too close together for anything more to be revealed. Mark exhaled in slight relief. “If that was an accident then I’m Irish. And we both know you’re the only lucky leprechaun here, you fuckin’ silly ass tease. Literally.”

Jack wiggled again for Mark, racing one hand back to stroke over the scarred letters tattooed across the small of his back before skimming it down across his ass. He grinned over his shoulder at Mark again. “You _like_ my ass tease, ya dork. Why else would you have asked for it?”

“Touche. So sue me if I like my boyfriend’s sexy booty. It’s cute. Especially when you wiggle; it jiggles a little bit. Wish I could squish it.” Mark was grinning and giggling and he wasn’t even certain if he was still hard, but he was enjoying himself one way or another and that was what mattered.

“Squish…” Jack gave his ass a squeeze.

Mark didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable or in any remote amount of danger. It was the perfect climate for Jack to turn around and reveal the other side of things. “Much as I enjoy watching you play around with your own butt… I think I’m ready. Slow? And.. and keep talking to me.”

Jack twisted around slowly, revealing his half-chub to his camera, and, by extension, Mark's eyes. He zeroed in on Jack’s dick in a blink. His next breath got caught up in his throat and his eyes widened slightly. _‘Just a dick, it’s just a dick, it’s just Jack’s dick, it’s not gonna hurt you, he can’t- he’s_ ** _not_** _gonna shove it in your face or your butt it’s okay, it’s okay….’_ Mark silently reiterated to himself as he felt his heartbeat quicken. He tried to push the breath up and out of his mouth, but it was stuck, and he could feel the panic starting until Jack spoke.

“Behold, the wonder and majesty of the naked Irishman! See that he does not, in fact, have a potato in his pocket and _is_ just happy to see you!”

The breath sputtered out of him in a spittle-riddled wheeze and Mark choked softly; gawking at Jack. He glanced back to Jack’s half-hard dick, and though he still felt a spike of fear, he was able to keep breathing. Mark counted his breaths, gently squeezing at his own dick and keeping his free hand flattened over his chest. It was easier to measure his heartbeat that way, and it felt as if it were slowing down. He blinked. “...it’s smaller.”

Jack threw his hands up. “Because we did have a bit of a boner-kill moment in the middle and I've been more focused on making my bae's wiener happy than my own! It _will_ grow…” He stuck out his tongue at Mark, though he made no move to touch himself.

Mark blinked again and leaned back some. He wasn’t really scared or threatened by Jack’s exclamation and outburst, but he was a little hypersensitive at the moment; to basically everything. Jack shouting and tossing his arms up in slight exasperation threw Mark off and he glanced a bit warily from Jack’s face to his dick, though it might not necessarily be noticeable due to the camera. Slowly placing his clean hand on the edge of his desk, Mark focused his gaze lower again and gently squeezed at the wood.

Briefly, he let his gaze drop to his own dick, before returning to Jack’s. His next exhale was almost inaudible, but his voice wasn’t. “...you’re smaller than them.” His voice was still quiet, and small, in a way it hadn’t been for a long time. It was akin to Mark’s hospital voice, but without the scratchy hoarseness caused by his pneumonia.

Jack's humor visibly dissolved into concern. “Mark…”

Mark’s fingers tightened on the desk, expression unreadable. “...it looks different. _You_ look different. It’s…” Mark’s breath hitched, and his eyes stung. “It’s just a dick. It’s just _your_ dick and it’s not… you’re not gonna hurt me with it.”

Mark’s breath hitched again when Jack stepped closer. It didn’t matter if there were miles and a screen between them; Jack’s dick had gotten closer. Closer was bad. Closer always meant trouble, or pain, or humiliation for Mark and his hair stood on end at the memories. However, Jack was still talking, and Mark desperately clawed through the old images to listen to his words.

Jack pitched his voice low and soothing. “Mark, you're right. It's just _my_ dick, and it's safe. It's different. It's not going to hurt you. It's _never_ going to hurt you. I will never do anything to you with my dick that you do not explicitly want. I promise. It's safe. _You're_ safe. Because I love you.”

Mark’s eyes were still stinging, but he managed to maintain his breathing while Jack spoke. He forced his fingers to loosen where they’d been keeping a death grip on the edge of his desk; knuckles still bone white. “I… I love you too….” Mark dragged a deeper breath down into his lungs. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. “Can you… touch it? St-step back a little, maybe. I just… feel good. Let yourself feel good and I… it’ll help, me. It will. I’m happy when you feel good….”

Jack stepped back and reached down to take himself in hand. He took a deep breath and started toying with his dick like he had done with the dildo, just lightly playing his fingers along his shaft. “Mark…” Jack sighed. “Remember that bath we took together? With all the bubbles? Remember how that felt, just you and me in the tub together. We were touching each other...you were doing this...remember how good that was?”

Mark watched Jack, and he listened. The men in the room had stroked themselves plenty of times; mostly to ejaculate on him. Mark wasn’t _there,_ though. If Jack came, it would only get on the floor or his hand. It wouldn’t be anywhere near Mark, and Jack wasn’t masturbating for any reason other than the fact Mark asked him to. He would stop in a heartbeat, if Mark said the word. Gradually, he began stroking his own dick again, attempting to match Jack’s speed and movements.

He closed his eyes, and as the memories came unbidden he pushed the older ones away. Mark focused on the sound of Jack’s voice and snatched up the proper memory; one he had been cherishing since the day it was made. Warm water, soapy bubbles and Jack, happy and naked beneath him, arching into his hand while Mark jerked them both off. Jack’s dick hadn’t harmed him, then. Touching it hadn’t brought any negative repercussions. Jack was _safe._ Jack’s dick was safe, and Mark had no reason to fear it. He squeezed at his own shaft with a breathless moan. “...I remember…. I remember how good it felt… how good _you_ felt, under me…. What it was like to touch you there…. It was safe. _You’re_ safe. I… Sean. Close your eyes? Please? Don’t stop touching yourself… if that’s okay.” Mark would never ask Jack to do anything he was uncomfortable with.

“Just tell me if you're getting uncomfortable, because I can't see it.”

“I will. I promise.” Mark’s eyes were also still closed, so he took Jack’s word at face value. He was still stroking himself, though it was more an afterthought than something he was actively paying attention to. Instead, his mind was devoting itself to a new image based off the pleasant memory he’d been revisiting. Back to Jack and himself on the bed, but now Mark was reaching over to take Jack’s dick in his hand. He squeezed gently around the shaft, his actual hand mimicking the idea in real life, and he moaned softly.

The fantasy meant nothing if he was the only one experiencing it, though. “...we’re together, Sean. We’re on our bed, in our little cabin, and it’s just the two of us…. We’re naked and your lips are still all puffy after putting your mouth on me… on my dick. You just look so cute… and you want me so much…. My hand’s on you. Can you feel it, Sean? Sliding up and down your dick, squeezing at it, taking my sweet time so I can hear your sounds and watch you wiggle because of how much you want more… want _me._ I’m touching you _there,_ I’m stroking your dick… I’m stroking it, because I want to, wanna hear you say my name… mmn… Sean….” Mark released a fluttery little sigh and dipped his head forward. “Keep touching me… god, Sean, please keep touching me, feels so good….”

“Mark…” Jack sighed Mark's name again, but it was definitely in pleasure this time. “Of course I'm still touching you, Mark, of course I am. I can't get enough of you. I might not be sucking your dick anymore, but I'm still stroking it, can't keep my hands off of you. I'm playing with your nipples too, still can't decide which one is my favorite, so I have to tweak both of them...god, Mark, I love the little sounds you make, the way your eyes get all soft and deep…”

Mark followed Jack's side of the fantasy, returning his free hand to his chest and pinching at a nipple. He gasped, then moaned while he toyed with the bud. It was _so much better_ imagining Jack's fingers there; Jack hovering beside him on the bed. He twisted his next stroke the way he liked, pretending it was Jack, and he mewled as he arched up off his chair. His fingers moved between the two nipples, as Jack described, and the head rush was a little intense as Mark let the Jack in his mind’s eye envelope him completely.

“Seeeaaan….” Mark moaned, huffing a little breath. His skin, almost back to its old bronzed tone thanks to the California sunshine, was flushed all over and beaded with sweat. Strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead and were caught up in his glasses, which were slipping dangerously low on his nose. Panting heavily as he bucked and arched into his hands- _Jack's_ hands- with no fear, no anxiety and no discomfort. Mark felt nothing but pleasure and love and affection as he- _Jack-_ pushed towards his impending orgasm. “ _Sean… Sean.._ c-could get inside you, right now…. Could give you what you wanted.. mmn… o-or we could cum like this, just us, just our hands.. ahh… Sean….”

Jack was panting now, Mark could hear it. “Mark, mm, I'm not, not stretched or anything, _can't_ take you right now...but that's okay, it's okay Mark, already sucked your dick today. One step at a time, we can just cum like this… Love you, Mark, love you so much…”

“Oh thank god, thank god, good, _good-_ Sean.. Sean….” Mark didn't care if his vocabulary was rapidly deteriorating. Jack understood and knew exactly what Mark was trying to say.

In the room, he'd only ever cried or sobbed or begged for them to stop; screamed and shouted until his voice gave out and it was never their names. He never knew their names and didn't want to, because names made them more human. Instead of that horror, Jack's real name was dripping happily from Mark's lips. No sound he made was distressed or pained and the flush spread across his body was purely from heated arousal- not shame or embarrassment. It was sweet, and beautiful, and Mark relished every second of his autonomy even if Jack wasn't physically there. The fact he craved the touch of his boyfriend enough to go out of his way and envision it spoke volumes of just how far he'd come.

Mark could feel stinging start up behind his closed eyelids again but didn't know why. His strokes had become hurried and sporadic, but the hand on his nipples helped him retain the fantasy his imagination had cultivated. Jack's voice was ringing directly into his ears, not crackling through a speaker, and Mark keened softly. Jack's endless affection for him was almost overwhelming. “L-love you, love you, oh fuck, gonna.. ‘m gonna… Sean- Sean- _Sean..!_ ”

“Cum for me, Mark… Cum for me, wanna see you, _feel_ you, Mark, wanna feel you lose it, in my hands, against my body, Mark, _please_ … _Please…_ ”

Jack's command- no, no, not quite a command, it sounded more like begging; not the way they'd say it, _never-_ shivered down Mark's spine, eliciting a soft whine. He squeezed hard at his shaft and stroked it exactly how he liked, over and over. He imagined Jack laying there in front of him, pulling steadily at his cock, tweaking his nipple and- _ah_ , there.

Mark stroked himself one last time, fingers squeezing gently just beneath the head, and then he was shooting his release across his stomach and his ribs. A few extra spurts dribbled onto his fingers as he keened Jack's real name: loud and unabashed. Body arching up off his chair for several moments, he was soon folding back into it as a semi-sentient man puddle. He moaned softly, already feeling exhausted, while the tears he'd been holding back all along came trickling down his cheeks and he sniffled, lips trembling.

Jack moaned Mark's name. “Mark, Mark, look at you, you're so beautiful, I love you, Mark, I love you so much…”

Mark felt weightless and floaty as he rode on the high of what was a surprisingly good orgasm. After all the hiccups, he hadn't even been sure if he _could_ reach climax at one point. Yet there he was, sprawled in his chair with his release sticking to his skin. Only Jack could see him. Only Jack could hear him and he could hear Jack, too. Heard how he was still panting and moaning as he murmured praises and compliments and confessions of love.

It took a bit, but Mark came to realize Jack probably hadn't cum himself yet. Grunting softly, even as the tears continued slipping down his cheeks, Mark wiggled to sit up a bit more but he kept his eyes closed. He let the envisioned fantasy engulf him again, though it was a little harder now, and spoke evenly as he could for his boyfriend. “Sean… I love you, Sean, I love you so much… so good for me, Sean. So good _to_ me. I love you. I'm going to keep touching you, Sean. I'm gonna help you cum, I'm gonna make you feel good too, I promise…. Feel me kissing at your skin, across your shoulders. I'm still squeezing and stroking while I tease at your nipples, ‘cause I know you love it as much as I do. I'm right here. I'm right here, Sean, and I've got you. Gonna make you feel so good…..”

“Mark, fuck, I love you…” Jack groaned. Then he sighed Mark's name.

“Love you too, Sean, love you… there you go….” Mark still wasn't looking, but somehow he just _knew._ From the familiar little sigh and how it sounded like Jack stopped breathing for several seconds. Mark _knew_ what Jack's orgasm sounded like and he finally allowed himself to slump back in renewed relief.

Still sniffling, Mark removed his glasses so he could scrub at his eyes. Only then did he open them, sliding the spectacles back into place. He got his first real eyeful of Jack since they got back into it and his breath hitched softly. Most of Jack's cum had ended up on the floor, probably, since there was only a little on his hand. But it was Jack's expression Mark honed in on. Relaxed, relieved; oh-so-happy and satisfied as he floated on his own Cloud Nine and Mark smiled through his tears. _He'd_ done that. Jack had helped him, and he helped Jack. He snuffled again and swiped his nose across his arm. “Jack, d-don't fall over- maybe you should s-sit down.”

“Heh...g-good idea…” Jack cracked his eyes open, managing to stumble back and collapse in his chair. He uncurled his fingers one at a time from his dick and gave the camera a dopey grin and giggle. “That's...actually the first time I've done that in this room…you okay? You good?”

 _‘Adorable.’_ Mark returned Jack's smile easily, even if he was still crying. “Wish I could say the same, but I have definitely jerked off in here before….” he admitted sheepishly. Watching multiple porn videos at once on his numerous monitors, _with_ the soundproof walls? Mark could be as loud and lewd as he wanted. Not that he did it much anymore.

“That's what the big screen tv is for,” Jack teased. He leaned back in his chair, sighing again.

Tired of scrubbing at his face and feeling a little itchy from the cum still on his skin, Mark snagged some tissues to try and clean himself up. “I-I'm… I'm good. Yeah. ‘M okay…. J-just.. emotional, I guess….” He wheezed out a pitiful sort of laugh and gave up on his glasses, setting them on his desk. “I can't seem to stop crying….”

“It's okay, Mark. I knew you were a bubble-blowing baby when I fell for you. Wish I had some of your tissues, though. My towel's aaaaaall the way over there.” Jack wiggled his fingers at his desk, just out of reach. “...wish I had you…”

Mark could feel his lips starting to tremble again. He pressed his fingertips to them but the digits did nothing to hide his quivering smile. Jack was kind of a blur on his screen due to his lack of glasses, but Mark didn’t mind. He could piece together all of Jack’s details and features in his mind’s eye by heart. “Wish I had you too. But it’s like you said, right? Just a few more weeks? We can do it. We can… even if it’s gonna be hard.” He sniffed. “C’mon, Sean. Just roll your chair forward. You can do it. I believe!” He picked his voice up a bit, even if it wobbled; hoping Jack would catch the reference.

“I believe in Steve…!” Jack pushed off with his feet, wheeling his chair closer to his desk. He grabbed his towel to wipe his fingers off. The dildo stood there, still as proudly erect as ever. Jack pushed it with one finger to knock it down.

The little “plop” of the dildo toppling over onto the surface of Jack’s desk summoned up a snort from Mark. Mark burst into a fit of giggles, letting his hand fall away from his mouth. He was grinning fully now while he dabbed at his eyes and face one more time. Finally, the tears were subsiding.

“Seriously though...thanks, I think, for Mini Mark? I probably will pretend he's you in these next couple of weeks…”

Mark could feel a little heat flooding his cheeks and quickly replaced his glasses in an effort to hide it. “You’re… uh, you’re welcome. Like I said, it really was just a joke to begin with, but… I mean, if it actually helps… then I’m glad. Just hope you won’t like it better than me by the time we’re back together.” He was teasing, of course. His self-esteem wasn’t _quite_ so low that he felt real competition with a _sex toy._

“If nothing else, I'll be able to figure out how to get around my gag reflex,” Jack said.

Mark sighed. “Good luck with that one.”

“But don't worry. Mini Mark doesn't taste nearly as good as you. Doesn't feel as good either. He might just make me want you _more_.”

Mark leaned back in his chair and stalwartly switched gears in his brain so he _wouldn’t_ think about how he’d gotten over his own gag reflex. He was _not_ ending this call on a sour note. He combed fingers through his mussed hair instead and smiled affectionately at his boyfriend on the other side of the world. “I’d hope I tasted better than _silicone,_ so thanks for the confirmation. Maybe I should send you some stuff more often, if it’s just gonna hook you harder on me…”

“I'm only basing it off of how your skin tastes. You're gonna have to let me get my mouth on your dick for real to know for sure…” Jack grinned and winked.

The heat in Mark’s cheeks redoubled and he sputtered softly into his fingers as he pressed them over the lower half of his face, cradling his chin in his palm. He leaned forward to shoot Jack a dubious look but just couldn’t stop grinning. It was impossible to remain frustrated or exasperated with his boyfriend when his cheekiness was so damn cute. It wasn’t fair. “We’ll see how things go in a few weeks. Who knows? Maybe the prolonged separation’s gonna have me banging down your door; just ripping my pants off so you can compare the two and find out Markiplier is infinitely better.”

“If I don't drag you into the backseat of the cab and jump you first, you mean?” Jack asked. “Though, we should be responsible parents and make sure Chica is settled before we go at it like rabbits in heat…”

“ _Jack,_ we can’t just start scarring all the cabbies in Ireland. Who else is gonna drive us around?” Mark admonished Jack, playing along as his grin simmered down into a content smile. “Of course. Chica-bica _always_ comes first. She’s a good doggo, though. She handled the last two flights okay. I don’t think she’ll have much trouble with this one. Pretty soon, we’ll be calling her Air Bud!” Oh, Christ, if only Wade was around to hear that one. Granted, seeing as Jack and himself were both _naked,_ Wade was just about one of the _last_ people Mark would want present.

Jack groaned, shaking his head. “Only you, Mark. Only you. Good thing I love ya…”

“We both know you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not a prequel to Part 2, and Part 2 is not a sequel to this, it is simply a different POV. We recommend reading BOTH stories at the same time for maximum impact.
> 
> (I am so sorry if I ruined a cherished childhood song for you with a smut chapter but it had to happen.)


	98. 12/27: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home for good.

It had been a long year. A _very_ long year. Probably the _longest_ year Mark ever had or ever _would_ experience. So much had happened over the course of twelve months it was almost enough to make one’s head spin just considering it. To think, when Mark had started things off by going to that convention he’d thought it was going to be just another year. Another “normal” Tuber lifestyle of making videos and attending cons and doing panels; trying to keep up with social media.

Sometimes he wanted to go back and hit his past self upside the head.

In a single year, Mark had been kidnapped, traumatized, exposed, left for dead and permanently scarred. It was more than any person should have to suffer through in an entire _lifetime._ However, he’d also experienced the feeling of recovering. He had gotten an unintended but apparently much needed break from the limelight and Mark came back to himself; picked up the broken pieces and let someone else fill in all his cracks with gold. He’d discovered new things about himself, gotten his passion back and practically started a new chapter in his young life.

Most importantly, Mark had gotten Jack and Jack had gotten _him._ They were together and starting today, it would _stay_ that way. No more pushing medical visas in an effort to stay just one more month. No more flying back and forth across the Atlantic to see each other for a few precious days under the guise of a con or channel filming. From now on, they’d never be apart any longer than they wanted to. (With Chica along for the ride, of course.)

Mark was beyond ecstatic. There was an excitement and longing buzzing in his veins throughout the grueling half-day flight and it served as a good distraction for his anxiety. When he finally touched down in Ireland and worked his way through the immigration procedures, he’d wanted nothing more than to sink down into Jack’s waiting arms.

Unfortunately, publicity was still a thing. Mark was covered up with hat and scarf ( _fucking christ was Ireland_ ** _cold_** _)_ much as Jack but they couldn’t take any unnecessary risks. There was no running-into-each-other’s-arms scene, no slow motion show of affection; there couldn’t be. They were in public, and the official story they’d given their communities was they both missed the easy collaboration of living with another YouTuber who did not work for them. Mark missed his garden, and Jack missed the L.A. sun, and so they were going to share a house (two houses) like Dan and Phil, but with separate bedrooms, you dirty-minded shippers!

Mark didn’t think anyone actually bought it, but it would have to do until they were ready to come out.

For now, there was no running into Jack’s arms and Mark did not pull Jack into a kiss. Their eyes met and the tension melted out of Mark’s face as he made a beeline for Jack. Jack gripped his hands and squeezed, not going for a hug even though it would have been socially acceptable. Mark was grateful, because if Jack had hugged him he wasn’t sure he would have been able to let go.

“I’ve got a cab waiting,” Jack said. “Let’s get Chica checked out, so we can go home.”

The cab driver didn’t seem to know who they were, but they still didn’t take any chances. Jack and Mark held hands behind Mark’s carry-on, thrown casually on the seat between them like a chaperone. Their fingers interlaced, and they kept watching each other with stupid smiles on their faces, but they managed not to give away anything. Barely.

It was forced, _excessively affectionate_ hand holding all the way to their little cottage. Mark had planned to hang back with Jack when they arrived but upon seeing their old home in the countryside he just couldn’t sit still. Watching him hobble up to the front door with Chica’s crate in tow had probably looked hilarious but he didn’t care. Jack could laugh at him about his childish giddiness later (if he wasn’t experiencing the same thing himself).

Mark scarcely remembered to let Chica out before he was dashing around the house. He’d completely forgotten to remove pretty much anything- damp boots included- and ended up tracking a bit of water everywhere but he failed to notice. Mark was too busy soaking in the rooms and atmosphere he’d been missing for several months. Part of him wanted to dash out into the garden straight away and roll around in the grass. He felt rejuvenated. He felt _alive._

“Mark?”

Yet Jack was walking through the door, slipping off his boots and calling Mark’s name in that accent he’d never grow tired of. He pulled himself away from the window and rushed to meet his boyfriend with all the energy he’d been trying to expel since they arrived. “Jack!”

Mark scooped up the Irishman into his arms with a bright laugh and rocked them a bit. Jack looked absolutely _adorable_ in his Christmas sweater with his stupid, hideous Christmas socks and Mark just couldn’t get enough of him. He kissed at Jack’s forehead without a care to the fact he ended up knocking off the hat in the process. Then he was smothering Jack’s face with more breathless kisses between happy little giggles while he kept his boyfriend’s feet lingering several inches up off the ground. “Jack, Jack, _Jack_ I’m home, we’re home and it’s just like I remember Jack I love you. I love you _so much_ I feel like I just ate a pound of sugar or something I’m just so _happy_ and _excited_ andandand- _kiss me, dammit!!_ ”

Jack was laughing along, kicking half-heartedly and wrapping his arms around Mark's shoulders. “Mark, Mark, I'm trying, I'm trying, _stop moving, damn it_!” His mouth was glancing off Mark's face as Mark writhed and squirmed in his excitement, mirroring Chica's excited dancing at their feet. “Hold _still_!”

He was still laughing as he finally lifted his hands to force Mark's head still long enough to bring their mouths together properly. As soon as he was connected, his arms wrapped around Mark's shoulders again and he stopped his struggles. He melted into Mark’s arms with a soft moan.

Mark didn’t settle down until Jack at last managed to kiss him. His laughter and flurried words were silenced by the mouth he’d missed. Chica, still wound up by the long hours spent stationary and Mark’s excitement, gave a happy little yip. She planted her forepaws on their hips to watch the display with heavy pants and a wagging tail. Mark grinned into the kiss but didn’t break it. He merely let one hand drop to Jack’s ass, then the other, until he was lifting his boyfriend more securely against his chest. Getting a couple nice handfuls of Jack’s ass in the process was just a bonus.

Jack groaned, lifting his legs himself to lock them around Mark's waist. He kneaded his fingers into Mark's shoulders, coaxing Mark's mouth open to kiss him deeply. He twisted his tongue and moved their lips together.

Oh _did_ Jack ever make Mark weak in the knees with the things his tongue was doing. His goal hadn’t really been a full blown makeout session but he was hardly about to complain. Unfortunately, between Jack’s weight pressed against him and Chica doing her best to bowl both men over he was starting to have some difficulties. Namely because Jack’s mouth was making his leg muscles forget how to work right. Mark moaned, wet and heavy, into the kiss just as he felt his knees buckle. ‘ _Crap.’_ His grip on Jack’s ass tightened and he stumbled backwards. ‘ _Crap crap crap crap_ ** _crap-’_**

Mark’s panic at landing flat on his back with an eager boyfriend in tow was quashed as his shoulders hit the nearby wall with a quiet “thunk”. He immediately pressed his weight against the solid surface to avoid sinking any further (or dropping Jack altogether) and his knees were still slightly bent but for the moment they were stable as they locked lips. Chica, acting innocent as ever, sat where they’d been standing mere moments before with a curiously tilted head. ‘ _Devilish little pupperschnupp, goddamn.’_

Jack was giggling, his fingers plucking at Mark's coat. “Ch-Chica, did you have to go out, honey? Your daddy is a bit preoccupied…”

“Daddy is _very_ preoccupied.” Mark mumbled huskily around the heavy breaths he was still taking. Disappointment was creeping into his skin when Jack pulled away and he reminded himself that there was no rush, for once. Not this time. There were no deadlines or flights to worry about. Just how many hours were in a day and their usual responsibilities; the routines they’d settled into before Mark had to fly back to the States. They could take their time here (not that he wanted to right then). They could afford hiccups.

Jack pressed a soft kiss to Mark's chin and unhooked his legs. “Put me down,” he said. “I'll let Chica out, and you can take off some of this wet stuff and wait for me in the bedroom?” Jack fingered Mark's scarf and grinned. “Not that you don't look adorable prepping for an Irish winter, but it's been a long time since I've gotten to see your skin…”

It was still grudgingly that Mark set his “cargo| down. There was a pout playing at his lips. “Okay. Fine. Only ‘cause I still gotta get all this off anyway and I’d rather not have Chica interrupting us… later. Watch out for the puddles. I think I might’ve tracked some water around….” He smiled sheepishly and gave Jack’s nose a kiss; the facial feature blessedly healed.

Forcing his arms to unwind from Jack’s waist, Mark kicked off his own boots. “Also, don’t even _talk to me_ about ‘adorable’, you little Christmas leprechaun. I hope you realize I packed _all_ my awful Christmas sweaters. I don’t care if it’s after the fact. I’m wearing them.” They were _comfortable._ Plus he wanted Jack to laugh at them with him. If Jack was still in a festive enough mood to wear his own then it would be all the better. Resisting the urge to drag his cute boyfriend into another smooching session, Mark gave Chica’s head an affectionate scrubbing and headed for the bedroom. Rather than waiting until he reached his destination, Mark started shucking his clothes along the way.

At first, he was going to keep them gathered up in his arms but then a rush of deviousness bit him and he decided to just drop them. Maybe Jack would be a _little_ peeved, but it would leave quite the tantalizing “bread crumb” trail. By the time he made it to the bedroom he was down to just his boxers ( _perfect_ ) and could hop into the bed without any further preamble. Sexy pose, on the other hand, was _out,_ because it was still _freaking_ ** _cold._** He snuggled under their old duvet and waited for Jack to arrive.

When Jack reached the bedroom, his arms were full of Mark's entire outfit and he grinned. “Are you even wearing _anything_ under there?” he asked, dumping Mark's clothes unceremoniously in a pile on the floor and heading for the bed. He was tugging off his jumper as he crossed the room.

“Why don’t you wiggle that skinny Irish butt under here and find out?” Mark shot Jack a wink. There were fingers resting on the frames of his glasses, waiting to slip them off in preparation for what they were about to do, but he hesitated because Jack was stripping down now. Mark wanted to see each and every reveal of his lover’s skin in full, crystal clear detail. He let out a little breath of appreciation. “God, I missed you. I wish I could’ve stretched out all sexy and inviting for you but damn I forgot how much _colder_ it gets here. Hope your eyes work just as good _under_ the comforter.” Mark certainly enjoyed what _he_ was seeing.

“Aww, sorry, I had the heat low today cause I was gonna be out for most of it. Should've thought ahead more…” Jack dropped his jumper and pulled off his undershirt as well, his green hair a fluffy mess. “Tell me, Mark...how much do you want _me_ to wear?”

“Well, it’s okay. We’re gonna be warming each other up in a minute….” Mark drawled while his eyes happily roved over Jack’s newly exposed torso. Maybe Jack felt he wasn’t very attractive, and maybe it was just Mark’s preference, but he still thought his boyfriend looked beautiful. He immediately wanted to run his hands over that pale skin; or better yet, get his _mouth_ on it. The Skype call they’d shared weeks ago had been weighing heavily on Mark’s mind in the very best of ways.

Jack dropped his hand to his fly, toying with the button. He was already showing a bit of a chub off for Mark, and he ran his fingers down the side of the bulge for his boyfriend's appreciative eyes.

Feeling his mouth go a little dry from Jack’s obvious teasing, Mark bit his lip to stifle an excited whimper. He squeezed his thighs together and clutched eagerly at the duvet as he hunkered down. It wasn’t _fair._ He felt like a horny teenager all over again. The things Jack did to him shouldn’t be legal. (Thank god they were.) “Jack, get your damn pants off and get in here already so I can ravish the _fuck_ out of you.”

Jack laughed. He yanked his fly open and shoved his pants down his hips, revealing Christmas-present boxers.

“I can’t believe you’ve got a bow over your _dick,_ ” was Mark’s immediate response as he did his best not to just break down laughing. The holiday-themed underwear Jack had picked out were clearly made by someone with a dirty mind.

Jack toed off his socks before kicking them all aside and rushing toward the bed. He shoved beneath the duvet to press in close to Mark, spreading his cold fingers across Mark's bare chest. “Who said you're going to be doing the ravishing?”

Mark had yipped a bit from the application of cold fingers to his skin but he quickly wrapped Jack’s hands up in his own to fix the issue. Squeezing tight, Mark said no more until he’d taken a few precious seconds to gift Jack with a deep, sensual kiss.

Glasses were barely discarded before Jack was pressing his mouth to Mark’s again, breathing deeply through his nose. “I love you,” Jack whispered against Mark's lips. “I missed you. You're _here_!”

Mark breathed, and scattered more quick kisses along Jack’s chin, jaw and cheeks while he whispered, “I love you. I’m here. I’m _here,_ Jack, and when I leave you’ll be coming with me. We’re not gonna be forced apart anymore. I love you, _I love you,_ I never wanna stop kissing you or holding you or fucking _loving_ you. Cold hands and stupid underwear and floofy green hair and all. Jack.” Mark let a dorky smile spread across his lips as he tangled their legs together. “Can I be the red to your green? Let’s make Christmas.”

“I thought of you when I saw these and _had_ to have them…” Jack breathed. “I love Christmas. Let's be Christmas all year round.”

“Might as well, every day with you is basically Christmas. You’re the best present I could get.” Mark’s grin had returned at his cheesy words but he knew Jack loved them.

Jack twisted his legs around Mark's, pressing their bodies tightly together from knees to chests. Jack gasped softly, echoing Mark’s as their dicks pressed against each other with hardly anything between them. The only material separating them was two thin layers of fabric and it felt _amazing._

“Mark… Mark…” Jack whined Mark's name, his face red. “Please fuck me, please…”

Mark wanted to giggle at just how _gay_ it was for him to have missed the sensation of another guy’s _dick,_ but he was too enthralled by Jack’s needy begging to even _think_ of breaking the mood. The whining of his name coupled with Jack’s pleas did more for him than their current friction ever could. Mark groaned deep and low in his throat. “Jack… _fuck,_ Jack, how the hell am I supposed to tell you no when you talk like that? _Fuck._ How do you- should we, uh… ffff it’s so hard to think when you’re looking at me like that _stoppit._ ” It was Mark’s turn to whine as he squirmed against Jack; sparking more rubbing and contact between their groins. His hands released Jack’s in favor of sliding down his arms; his sides. Mark squeezed at Jack’s hips.

Jack looped his arms around Mark's back and rolled over, dragging Mark on top of him. “Like this,” he decided, bracing his feet against the bed. His hands skimmed down Mark's back, dragging nails lightly over his scarred skin, until he found the initials. Jack pressed one hand over each letter and spread his legs.  “This is how...whenever I'd...This is how I'd imagine you most.”

 _“Oh.”_ Missionary. Mark had to admit, after all the things he’d done with Jack, he’d sort of been expecting something a little more wild- kinkier, maybe? What with how his boyfriend went _crazy_ at being pressed to a wall, or how Mark littering Jack’s body with little bruises and hickies would make him howl- not that Mark was _disappointed._ He was just a bit surprised. “Not what I was expecting. But if this is what you want, I’m more than for it. Not all; _more._ Wanna give you more… wanna give you everything, Jack….” Mark bit hard at his lip as Jack wiggled.

Jack looked down at him and laughed. “I hope you like your present….”

This man was going to be absolute death of him. Mark huffed out a breathless laugh. “Guess I’d better get to opening it, huh?” He pushed himself onto hands and knees, sitting back to regain the use of his hands. They fell to Jack’s hips so his thumbs could trace the waistband and Mark hummed his approval when they dipped in to feel the smooth skin underneath. “Hmm… dunno if I should just yet, though. I haven’t even had my Christmas dinner.” He leaned in to hover his face just above Jack’s chest; eyelids low and stare pointed. _“Or dessert.”_

 _“_ You know what I _want_ ,” Jack purred, rolling up against Mark pointedly. He pressed his hands against Mark’s scar possessively and arched his back. “If you haven't eaten yet, don't let me stop you! You must be _starving_ …”

“Coy doesn’t work when you so obviously want it too, doof. Just try not to nut before I _actually_ unwrap my present.” Mark pressed his mouth to Jack’s chest with a stifled giggle. “Not to nut, not to nut, that shouldn’t be so fun to say….” he mumbled.

Still running his thumbs along the skin tucked beneath Jack’s boxers, Mark’s mouth set to work. Well, more like _play_ with how much he was already enjoying himself. He pinned Jack’s pelvis to the bed and began scattering kisses across a pale chest. His tongue poked out to trace a warm, wet curve around the edge of Jack’s pectoral and then he was falling upon the familiar, sharp jut of a collar bone. Mark nibbled his way down one side, then back up the other. He repeated the motion with the addition of his tongue before abruptly taking his first _real_ bite out of Jack’s skin. His teeth sunk in without warning near the top of Jack’s collar and he pulled the little bite into his mouth to suck hard.

Jack’s laughs became a sharp gasp and then a low chain of moans and soft whines. It didn't take long to reduce Jack to a limp puddle of goo beneath Mark (limp everywhere except the most important place). “Mark, Mark, Mark... _ahh!”_ Jack tensed and bucked beneath Mark. “ _Mark!_ ”

Mark sucked on the skin a second or two longer before releasing it from his teeth with a little snap. He lapped at the spot once or twice and pulled back to admire his handi- er, mouthwork. “What’s that? Marks? You want more Marks? All righty then!” His expression was devilish; deep brown eyes blown wide and clouded with lust as he stared up at Jack’s face. He dipped down to bite again, a little lower, and dragged his tongue back up to the hollow of Jack’s throat. Mark kissed the bobbing Adam’s apple as his hips started to roll. “Jack…”

Between Jack’s cries and how he strained against Mark’s hands, Mark was definitely hosting an erection. With that hardness came the need for attention, and Mark’s hips held no qualms with grinding down against what- who- was available. Mark didn’t let up on Jack’s, though. He kept his boyfriend pinned while he left more greedy love bites on Jack’s neck and beneath his jaw.

“A-ass,” Jack gasped. “I have to record tomorrow!”

Mark let his lips trace along the soft curve of Jack’s jawline and then located Jack’s open mouth again. He kissed Jack with a burning fervor and eager tongue, groaning.

Jack kissed back with a fervor, dragging one hand up to Mark's red hair. He groaned into the kiss, thrusting up against Mark's erection.

 _‘Oh fuck.’_ The only time Jack could trump the effects of Mark’s mouth was when they kissed; he was just too good. He knew all the ways to twist his lips and tongue to make Mark come undone and it _wasn’t fair._ (Said the hypocrite who had been doing much the same with his teeth.) Mark produced a long, low moan that vibrated against their lips and could already feel his knees going weak again. Thankfully, they were already down this time.

Licking hungrily into Jack’s mouth, Mark whined in response to fingers combing through his hair. Not to be outdone by his wiggly boyfriend, Mark released Jack’s hip to return the gesture. However, he didn’t just pet at Jack’s hair. Once his fingers had settled in, body supported with an elbow, Mark gripped a good handful of green and _tugged._ His knees inched further apart so their dicks could better slot together and subsequently spread Jack’s legs wider in the process.

Jack gasped, breaking the kiss to cry out as he tipped his head back, his dick jumping again against Mark's. “Mark…” he gasped. “Mark, god, I love you like this, between my legs, covering me in your marks. I love how you can kiss me, touch me, get me off. Love how you smell, and sound, and _feel_ , Mark, mm, you feel so good above me, beneath my fingers…” Jack slid his hand around Mark's neck and down to cover his chest. There was a hard nipple beneath his palm, and Jack circled his hand slowly over the nub. “I love you…”

“Jack….” Mark gave the hair in his fist a few more brief tugs before kneading gently at the scalp as if in apology for all the rough treatment. Jack’s voice- rough and breathless and needy- cloyed at his ears, pulling him in. His hunger transferred back to eager kisses and licks along the stretch of Jack’s jawline while he soaked in all the lovely, _spine-tingling_ words Jack was spilling from his lips.

His face dipped lower to kiss at Jack’s ear and lingered so he could let loose a whisper of his own. “I love you. I never thought this would be my favorite place, just pressed up next to you, _over you._ I love the noises you make when I _bite._ ” Mark nipped at Jack’s ear lobe to emphasize with a low, husky growl. “Love seeing you covered in’em; reminding me of what we did. Wanna put my hands and mouth _all over you._ I don’t care what position we’re in just so long as I can touch and feel and _taste and- ahh-”_ Mark sucked in a breath and gave his body a full roll: into Jack’s fingers, into his groin. He bit down at one of his favorite spots tucked away just behind Jack’s ear with another growl. “Think I’m ready for that present now.”

Jack shivered and whimpered as Mark bit his ear, sliding his fingers together to pinch and tug at Mark’s nipple. “Present?” He asked breathlessly. “ _Oh_! Oh, _this_ present?” He bucked off the bed again. “Mm… you’re gonna have to open it yourself. I’m kinda tied up at the moment.”

Mark whined and whimpered as Jack teased him. His upper body squirmed, panting, giving Jack’s hair one more harsh tug before pulling away. “Ye- _hnnghn- yes,_ that present. Doof.” He dragged his tongue along the shell of Jack’s ear. “Of course _I’m_ gonna open it. It’s _my_ present. Don’t you know how Christmas works, you silly little Irishman?” Mark shook his head as if disappointed in Jack and pushed himself up onto his knees again. His skin was flushed, chest heaving and beads of sweat trickling down toned muscles as he watched Jack. Mark’s hair was a flurried mess of red and black. He could still feel Jack’s fingers lingering on his scar.

His hands gripped at the waistband of Jack’s underwear and pulled. Jack didn’t have to lift up his hips; Mark tugged them up with strength alone and tossed the kitschy boxers away. Jack sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide as he moaned. Mark spread his legs, sliding Jack’s up so they overlapped his thighs, and showcased his own prominent bulge. Mark’s gaze trailed down Jack’s stretched, squirming body to where his erection now lay exposed against his stomach: swollen, flushed and twitching as Mark rubbed up and down Jack’s spread thighs. It wasn’t the first time Mark had seen Jack’s naked dick, but it always felt like a new experience. He squeezed. _“Beautiful.”_

Jack bit his lip and twitched his hands, grabbing for Mark, then for the sheet beneath him. “Maark?”

Mark watched Jack, spread out and aroused before him on the bed, for a few moments longer. Slowly, he leaned forward and down until his body was pressing against Jack’s. His lower half retained the same position between Jack’s legs but the rest of him lay flat. Chests, shoulders, hips and even their groins were touching and Mark could feel Jack’s dick against his own past the fabric.

He breathed, tucking his chin in beside Jack’s head to the sensation of stubble brushing stubble. Their arms were pressed close and Mark used the touch to blindly locate Jack’s hands. He twisted and fiddled until he could lock their fingers together and buried his nose into Jack’s hair; closing his eyes to let his other senses take precedence. Smelled liked Jack. Sounded like Jack, erratic heartbeat and all. Had tasted like Jack. This… _felt_ like Jack. This was how _Jack_ felt against him, _all of him._ Mark inhaled, then gave a shallow push with his hips; just enough for them both to feel it. His words were more breath than sound but audible enough for Jack to hear due to Mark’s closeness. “I’ve seen it.” He gave another gentle twitch forward. “You showed me. On Skype; remember? I’ve seen it. I wanted.. wanted to know. Wanted to _see…_ ” Mark bit at the ridge of Jack’s ear. “...you.”

Jack squeezed Mark’s fingers laced through his, rolling his hips along with Mark’s the second time. “I remember.” He rubbed his thumbs over Mark’s knuckles and turned his head so he could kiss Mark’s cheek. “Like what you saw?” he asked quietly, a trace of a tease in his voice.

Mark bit at his lip and gave a little nod. “Love looking at you.” He released one of Jack’s hands so he could reach back down to where they were pressed at the hips. “Liked… seeing it, last time. On the video. Really liked.. watching you. How you thought I’d touch you. Wanted to…” He wiggled backwards a bit, just enough to squeeze his hand in between them.

He sucked in a breath as his fingers rubbed over his bulge first. Mark indulged himself in a light squeeze or two that made his breath hitch and his voice whimper into Jack’s ear. Then he turned his wrist to dance fingertips along the underside of Jack’s dick. ‘ _It’s just like in the bath,’_ he silently reminded himself. ‘ _You’ve seen it. It’s_ ** _nothing_** _like theirs. It’s not dangerous._ ** _You’re in control._** _You. You’re doing this because you want to, damn it, and nothing else.’_ Mark pulled in another breath and gave Jack’s length a firmer, fuller stroke with his fingers. It was a little awkward in the small space he’d allotted but pressing this close to Jack was stopping his mind from comparing the intimate scene to _that room._ “Just.. l-let me….”

Jack squeezed Mark’s hand and didn’t move; his breathing shaky. “You’ve done this before,” he murmured. “In the bath. In your house. Remember?” Mark had touched Jack’s naked dick a couple of times. He just had never looked at it first. “You know how I like it. And hey.” Jack grinned, cracking his eyes open to look down at Mark. “No more bruises to make it ache in a not-fun way…”

“I’ve done this before.” Mark repeated the words in an almost identical fashion: quiet, low, gentle. He nodded again. Unable to look down just yet, he was instead looking up at Jack’s flushed face with a silent admiration that shifted gears into “affection overdrive” at the encouraging grin. Mark swore he could feel his heart performing backflips in his chest and his breathing stuttered. He tried to recover with a faint smile of his own and the best suave tone he could muster. “Oh yeah. I don’t have to hold back this time. How did you like it again? Was it… this much?” Confidence bolstered yet again by Jack, Mark wrapped his fingers a bit more securely around Jack’s erection and squeezed. He did his best to recall the right amount of pressure Jack had shown him back in the hotel room, then upped it a little.

Jack’s back arched as he moaned. “Unh, _yes_ , that’s good, Mark, that’s…” He bit his lip and looked down to meet Mark’s eyes again. “Talk to me?” he asked.

Jack’s reaction set a tingle into Mark’s body. He squeezed again, wanting a repeat, and then he started to _move_ his hand. The strokes were short, quick and light but they existed all the same and every movement bumped his wrist against his own erection. Mark released Jack’s other hand to press his forearm into the bed. The leverage allowed him to pull up from Jack a little; hovering over him once more. Crimson bangs hung low across one of his eyes while his lips remained parted for breath. Mark knew Jack was struggling to stay in control and he knew it would only get worse once he started his version of “dirty talk”.

Mark had to provide some concessions if he didn’t want to either lose his grip and accidentally trigger himself or make Jack implode from all the suppressed arousal. “Touch me, Jack. Put your hands on me. Hold onto me, grip me, drag your nails a little if you have to. I can take it. I _want_ it. I told you I wanna feel you. I _do._ I wanna feel _all of you._ I wanna feel your hands on me. I want to see you toss your head back and make those faces I love so much. The ones that tell me I’m doing good. That you’re loving my hands on you; my body. I wanna watch you wiggle and resist bucking up into my hand. Wanna hear your voice shout my name and groan and beg me for more. You’re so fucking _hot,_ Jack, like this. Laid out beneath me on our bed with only _me_ to see you. With only _you_ to see _me._ No one else, Jack. I don’t wanna do this with or to anyone else; only _you._ ”

Jack pressed his hands against Mark’s chest again, fingers finding a scar, but then he was soon sliding them around Mark’s back to hold on as Mark started to stroke him faster. He didn’t hold any noises back; as Mark touched him, Jack whined and moaned and whimpered Mark’s name. He dug his fingers into Mark’s back, heels slipping over the mattress as he struggled, fingers flexing with every pull of Mark’s hand. “No one else,” Jack panted, relaxing his hold on Mark’s back to drag his nails down. “No one else gets me like this. Just you, just you, I’m yours…”

“I’m yours.” Mark echoed. He panted, scouring Jack’s chest with more searing kisses and licks. His tongue tracked over a nipple and then went back to do it again. Mark nipped at a pectoral while the motions of his hand became more erratic. Jack kept slipping against his knees due to their position and he couldn’t get any good friction because of it. Mark grunted with a hint of irritation. “I’ve got an idea,” he rumbled low and rough.

Mark pulled back; stretching Jack’s hold on him but not breaking it. He just needed to put enough weight on his knees to free up his other hand. When he’d successfully balanced his body and wasn’t at risk of toppling over, Mark acted. His hand reached back to dip beneath Jack’s thigh and cupped the limb with a secure grip. He looked at Jack through his fringe with that patented “smolder” and sunk his voice to the deepest octave he could reach. _“C’mere.”_ A tug and pull had Jack’s ass sliding up into Mark’s lap. He choked a little when he felt the familiar dip slide over his erection and squeezed at Jack’s base on reflex. Huffing shaky breaths with sweat dripping from his brow, Mark coaxed Jack’s leg into curling around his waist with his hand. In one smooth motion that made every muscle in his abdomen flex tantalizingly, Mark thrusted up against Jack and let his hand slide along Jack’s dick in the process. He gasped, “ _Fuck yes._ Better. So much betterohgod.”

“ _Oh god,_ ” Jack echoed, then _wailed_ , tossing his head back, the muscles in his thighs straining. “Mark, fuck, Mark... _fuck_ , please Mark, please, oh god…” Jack tightened his leg around Mark’s waist, not thrusting back, but pulling himself as tight as he could against Mark’s body. “Mark, I need, I need…!”

“Jack, Jack, Jack just _go,_ just _go Jack_ fucking- _move-_ move, push, roll I don’t even care what you do at this point just go, oh crap, _fuck,_ fuck you feel so good against me I can’t….” Mark knew Jack was _still_ holding back and the part of him that didn’t want Jack to had officially outgrown his caution. He was rock hard and throbbing where he slid between Jack’s cheeks, over and over, with Jack’s own dick mimicking every pulse in his hand. Jack was crying out and near to sobbing from the sheer exertion of keeping tabs on his body and Mark couldn’t let him suffer anymore. He _wanted_ to feel Jack reciprocate his lust, his arousal. He wanted to feel Jack grind down against him until he couldn’t tell their bodies apart, until he could scarcely breathe. _“Jack, Jack, Jack_ ** _move._** _”_

Jack held himself still for another moment. He clung to Mark’s shoulders, then gradually began to flex. Slowly, Jack started finding his rhythm against Mark, rolling between Mark’s hand on his dick and Mark’s hardness thrusting up against his ass. He pressed his cheek against the mattress as he ground back.  
  


“Mark…” Jack was still practically sobbing with every thrust, squeezing tightly over the thick muscles of Mark’s shoulders. “Mark, I want… I want…”

Jack _still_ wanted more. Mark couldn’t give him much, he’d already gone so far. All that was left would be taking off his own boxers, or…

Mark heaved out a harsh gasp and released his hold on Jack’s dick. Abruptly, both of his hands dropped to Jack’s hips to force their sporadic grinding to a rough halt. He’d already stopped moving, so really it was just a matter of reversing his last request. He felt a little guilty about it but he couldn’t think straight with Jack rubbing against the head of his dick as if he would die without it. Panting, sweating and hazy-eyed, Mark did his best to keep his gaze focused on Jack’s face when the rest of his writhing, straining body was such a tempting sight. “Jack… J-Jack, do you… are you saying…. Jack, do you want me to..”

Jack sobbed, struggling against Mark’s grip to no avail and Mark knew he had to get on with it but Christ, how the Hell did he ask? Mark knew what Jack was begging for but the thought of actually voicing what Jack wanted- what he might be willing to do- was embarrassing. So he was still stupidly immature, oh well. Jack was the one who fell in love with him. Mark bit his lip, longing to move again, and did his best to complete his question in a breathy whisper. “...touch you _there?_ ”

Jack’s gaze dropped while he licked his lips. He nodded abruptly, then looked up to meet Mark’s eyes and nodded again. “I... _please._ If… if not, I can do it myself, and you can… you can watch. I just _need…_ ”

Mark stared down at Jack with a dissonance of emotions on his face. His mind, practically drunk on lust and arousal as it was, tried _very_ hard to pick through what could or needed to happen next. Fact one: they were both well beyond erect and aching for more. Fact two: Jack _needed_ some kind of penetration or he was going to cry. (Fact two part two: if Jack cried then Mark was going to cry and then neither of them would get off.) Fact three: Mark _loved_ Jack. Most importantly, fact number four: Jack had always looked really, _really_ hot when he would finger himself during their Skype calls.

Mark had never fingered a man before. Hell, he’d never even penetrated someone’s _ass-_ with anything. In the room, it had only ever been _him;_ always him, but Jack wasn’t asking for that. Jack wanted _his_ ass penetrated- _by anything._ He was going crazy now that he had Mark back and knew what it was like to have something inside of him and he wanted _Mark_ inside of him, no one else. Mark swallowed hard but his mouth was still dry.

He shifted while he considered and immediately gave a soft, little moan at even the minute friction the action caused. Mark bit at his lip. How many times had he wanted to touch Jack during those video calls? To use his own hands; to give Jack’s fantasies a try? Jack always seemed to feel _so good_ when he did it to himself. Mark didn’t really understand how, after all he’d been through, but did he need to? All he was doing was using his fingers. Jack was the one taking them. Mark really wanted to see him make _that_ face. He rubbed soothing circles into Jack’s hip bones with his thumbs and then squeezed. A needy resolve had settled onto his face.

“...where do you keep your lube?”

“D-drawer,” Jack said, shakily freeing a hand and flopping it in the direction of the bedside table where he’d left their glasses. Outside of the duvet. Fuck. It was gonna be _cold_ , but it would warm up fast. “And… and where are my boxers?”

“Okay.” Mark took as deep a breath as he could muster. “Okay… uh. Jack.” He’d started to move, but Jack’s thighs and shins were wrapped around his waist like a vice. He shimmied a little with heated cheeks as he reached for the discarded boxers instead. “You’re gonna have to, uh… let go. Like just for a minute- or longer. I don’t… even know if I could reach your butt, like this. Sorry. Here’s your boxers.” Mark dropped them directly over Jack’s dick with a hint of cheekiness to his smile.

Jack huffed a breathless laugh, giving a squeeze with his legs before stretching out. “Sorry, sorry. You know I love having you between my legs…”

Mark could breathe a little easier once Jack was off of him. He missed the warmth, but it felt good to stretch. No, scratch that, he decided he _really_ wanted the warmth back when he was forced to lift up the duvet. It was hardly _freezing_ in the cabin but compared to their heated comforter den (of sin) it came as quite a shock. Mark huffed with irritation and dug through the drawer in a desperate fervor. “Lube, lube, lube, lube c’mon where’s the- huh.” He paused when he spied the condoms. Thankfully, they were right next to the lube. How convenient.

“Can I wolf-whistle?” Jack wondered aloud. “Cause boy, you be _fiiiiine…_ ”

“Found i-” Mark made a startled sound when his butt was poked and quickly ducked back into the warmth of the duvet. The bottle of lube was gripped securely in his fist, though his next words came out sounding a little funny due to the condom hanging by its foil corner from his teeth. “I’d say to keep it in your pants, but, well.” He chuckled a bit, completely ruining his attempts at mimicking porno sex appeal and let the condom drop into his free hand. “Did you buy these for me, or…? ‘Cause I’m gonna tell you they’re too small. Sorry.”

“Nah, they’re fine. Irish sizing, see. Runs larger than you pencil-dicked Americans are used to…” Jack stuck out his tongue at Mark, then slid his hands down his chest and hips, giving a little shimmy. He’d left the boxers where Mark had dropped them, the Christmas bow sticking up obscenely. “They’re...kinda old, but they should fit you.”

“Pencil-di- _excuse you,_ good sir. I take offense to that on behalf of _all_ well-endowed American men! It’s _this_ ‘pencil-dick’ you want up your butt, mister. Don’t forget that.” Mark huffed but couldn’t deny Jack was _still_ an incredibly alluring sight to behold. He licked at his lips and set the questionable condom aside for now. “Good to know. Probably won’t get that far- I was mainly just being cheeky, but… hey. If we do, at least I won’t have to leave the comforter again. It’s _cold_ out there. See?” Mark grinned and shoved his hand under Jack’s lumpy boxers to squeeze at the underside of his thigh; just above the bottom of his ass cheek. He knew his fingers must be _freezing_ in comparison. The thumb on his other hand popped the cap of the lube bottle. “Bet this shit’s cold too. Boy that sucks for you huh?”

“I want the pencil-dick because it’s _your_ dick, Mark, not because it’s some girthy monstrosity of masculini- _TY!_ ” Jack’s voice skyrocketed in a squeal. “Jesus _fuck_ , is the furnace even _working_!?”

“‘Girthy monstrosity of masculinity’? That sounds _terrifying._ Or like some kind of sex toy ad… huhuhuh….” Mark giggled a bit to himself as he mumbled the last part, or maybe he was laughing at Jack. His grin stuck either way. “Well, _my_ furnace sure is… and yours, from the feel of it.”

Jack reached for Mark’s hands, catching them between his and rubbing gently, even with the lube bottle in the way. He was doing his damn best to warm them up like a good boy scout. Mark squeezed the bottle between his own palms in an effort to heat the contents faster. “Hey now, there’s no need to be cold, Mark. I’m trying to be warm and inviting here…”

At the pun, Mark’s face fell. “Oh my _god._ That’s it. You’re not allowed to talk to Wade anymore. Clearly, he’s had a negative influence on your sense of humor. Please don’t kill my boner, Jack.” Granted, in his current state Mark sincerely doubted such a thing was even possible. He clenched his stomach muscles and tried not to think of how _good_ it had felt rutting up against Jack’s ass.

“Aww, did it hurt your boner? I could kiss it better for you…” Jack pulled Mark’s hands close to his face and pressed a kiss to every fingertip. He looked up over their clasped hands at Mark. “If you wanted me to…”

Mark could feel the muscles in his face twitching; lips starting to tremble. Jack had just attacked him with the sexual equivalent of a Mortal Kombat combo move. Those lusty, earnest blue eyes coupled with chapped lips dusting his fingertips, how Jack whispered such a tantalizing offer which could _never_ be mistaken for a simple tease. Mark stared at Jack’s mouth and imagined what those kisses would feel like on his dick.

 _‘No. No no. Not yet.’_ Mark knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to handle that right now. If he didn’t just instantly cum the moment Jack put his mouth on him, then he’d probably get overwhelmed and panic. He _needed_ control. That was the entire point of his previous position; the reason he gently pulled his hands from Jack’s clinging grasp to coat the fingers of one with lube. Oral, from either of them, would require a different session. Mark was too geared up now to mentally prepare himself for such a change in pace. He’d only just gotten his mind made up about fingering Jack and he swallowed hard. “Tempting as that sounds… I thought you wanted me to touch you down _there._ ”

He set the bottle aside and scooped up one of Jack’s thighs again as if his hand just naturally fit there. Squeezing tenderly, Mark lifted Jack’s leg to better expose his ass and dipped his lubricated hand in. His fingers swept beneath Jack’s balls in his rush but didn’t stop his index finger from wiggling between Jack’s ass cheeks. It pressed to an eager, quivering hole and Mark paused as he recalled the sensation from their shared bath. There was no water or bubbles this time around, but Jack’s dick was still hiding beneath his boxers. Mark took a breath and _pushed._ “Down _here…_ ”

Jack gasped and opened his legs further. He took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself. Then Mark’s finger was slipping inside, and Mark was _inside Jack_. His head fell back and his body quivered. “ _Fuck…_ ” Jack groped for Mark’s other hand, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip.

“Fuck….” Unlike Jack, Mark whispered the word with a sort of stunned awe.

“Mark, Mark, feels good, so good, better than mine, cause it’s not mine, it’s _you,_ it’s you I love you fuck, Mark, fuck, please, please, _more…_!” Jack opened his eyes as he babbled, fixing Mark with a pleading stare. “More, deeper, harder, faster, _please_ Mark, please give me _more_ …!”

Mark hadn't even shoved his first finger in _all the way_ and Jack was already coming undone beneath him. He'd seen Jack break down, squirm and beg for things but never to such an extreme. That expression was back in a flash; the one that made it look like he'd start bawling if Mark turned back now. If he didn't try to follow at least a few of his requests. Jack looked like he'd just _break_ if Mark fucked this up, voluntarily or otherwise, and a newfound pressure weighed heavily in his gut.

 _‘It’s just a finger.’_ Mark mentally marvelled as he tentatively pushed the digit all the way in to his knuckle. Jack was rambling, _pleading_ with Mark and he only spasmed more desperately from Mark’s action. He could feel Jack’s hand reaching sporadically for his own. Quietly, Mark pushed Jack’s leg further back so he could touch at Mark’s fingers there instead. Unfortunately, he needed the leverage and couldn't let go to take Jack’s hand. ‘ _I don't get it I don't get it. It's just a finger but Jack’s acting like he's gonna die. He looks so incredible….’_ Mark's mouth was drier than the Sahara and he felt twice as hot. His dick was still throbbing steadily between his legs but the pressure hadn't lessened. It felt like it was spreading up into Mark’s chest, squeezing, and he started wiggling and lightly twisting the finger in an effort to distract himself.

 _‘Just watch Jack. Just watch Jack. He loves it. He does. He loves it so much… loves you. Loves_ ** _you.’_** Mark tried to take several deeper breaths when he felt his count edging out of rhythm. His heart was beating so wildly in his chest it felt fit to burst combined with the pressure there. “Jack… Jack… l-look so good, you look _amazing_ like this. So much better than on a screen. Love you, love you so much I'm…” ‘ _I'm trying, Jack, I'm trying. I am. I promise; for you.’_

“Mark…” Jack clasped his hand around Mark’s on his leg, squeezing lightly. He panted, squirming around the finger pressed inside him. He stared at Mark for a minute before he squeezed again, but this time he clenched down on Mark’s finger as well as the ones he was holding.

Mark was used to Jack squeezing at his fingers. It was always a comfort to him, even now. However, the sensation of Jack _clenching down_ on them was something else entirely. Mark gave a little gasp and glanced to where his hand was tucked beneath the discarded boxers. ‘ _So tight.’_ Mark knew what it felt like to have something up his ass. He knew how painful it could be and he couldn't comprehend why Jack didn't find it painful too, but he must be doing something right. Everything in Jack’s voice and body language conveyed he couldn't get enough and Jack was _not_ a masochist.

“I promise, I promise, if it stops being good, the _moment_ it stops being good for me, I'll tell you… I know what I can...what I can take. I know. And I trust you. And I...I... _Mark…_ ” Jack trailed off with a whine as he shifted.

Jack was still squirming against his hand with need; begging with his body while his words tried to reassure Mark, ever so patient and thoughtful. Mark felt his chest squeeze in a different way and his lips wobbled again. “Jack…. I wanna do this for you. I wanna do it so badly I'm just nervous and it's- it's weird, for me. I don't get it and I don't think I can, right now, but I'm gonna try doing it. For you. I…” Mark shook his head even as he started moving his finger, in and out, of Jack. He paused his words to take a few more breaths in some effort to steady himself. All the while, Mark watched Jack’s face. He squeezed at Jack’s thigh and tried to focus on right now, _that moment_ , rather than past or future. “Jack. Jack I… I think I know a better way to do this, f-for me, but… I'm gonna have to take my finger out. And move you. I.. do you…” ‘ _Jack already said he trusted me.’_ “...is that okay?”

“Mark, _ah_!” Jack's reassurances were cut off as Mark started actually moving his finger. He bit his lip and _rolled_ , meeting Mark's thrusts with a press of his hips. “Whatever...whatever _you_ need.” Jack squeezed his fingers over Mark's again and supplied a wobbly smile. “Mark, whatever makes this good for you too…”

Mark returned the smile as relief flooded his veins and slight excitement ballooned in his chest. “ _Okay.”_ He took a breath. “Okay. Just- bear with me, a minute. This is gonna be some maneuvering but I promise it'll be good. I'll go right back to doing this, _I will._ Don't worry about anything just let me move you.” It was Mark’s turn to babble as he slid his finger out of Jack. He hastily wiped his fingers off on Jack’s boxers and then awkwardly got out from between Jack’s legs. Doing his best not to dislodge the duvet and send them both into frigid temperatures, Mark plopped down next to Jack’s head with his back leaned against the bed frame. After a moment’s consideration he piled a few pillows behind him.

“Okay, here we go, just gotta… flip you around….” Mark knew he could just _ask_ Jack to move. However, he already felt bad about changing their position. The least he felt he could do was all the work since he was the one making a fuss in the first place. Plus, Jack _liked_ being manhandled. Maybe he could make up for the interruption a little.

Leaning forward to dip his arms beneath Jack, Mark gently but firmly manipulated his boyfriend’s naked body. He twisted Jack around on the bed, ignoring the once more dislodged boxers, and then shifted his hands to Jack’s hips. “Ready? _Hup._ ” With a grunt and heave Mark dragged Jack up to sit, then into his lap. Mark was still on his knees and Jack’s naturally folded in on either side. Jack’s ass pressed against his thighs while his dick slid roughly across Mark’s still concealed bulge and he gasped; louder. Biting at his lip, Mark leaned back and brought Jack with him. The Irishman could splay across his chest and shoulders much as he wanted. Still gripping at a hip with one hand, Mark brought up the other to cup Jack’s chin with his fingers. “ _I love you._ Thank you for letting me take this at my own pace; how it's comfortable for _me._ I'm gonna make you feel good, no matter what. I promise. Kiss me?” ‘ _And I'll put my fingers back in.’_

A heady moan escaped Jack. He gave a little shimmy and a smirk from beneath his lashes, rubbing their erections together.  “You always make me feel good,” Jack assured Mark. He pressed his lips to Mark's jawline, then under his ear, then down to catch his lips again, settling against his chest. He rolled his body against Mark's again, curling his toes and flexing his legs. “Love you…”

 _“Ohfuck-”_ If Jack kept wiggling like that Mark would have nothing left to penetrate him with (besides his fingers). He moaned, low and sultry, mumbling about Jack being a little shit under his breath. “You too… You too Ja- _mnnn…_ ” Jack cut-off his voice and swallowed him up with lips and tongue. Mark groaned and whimpered as Jack rolled again. No doubt about it; this position was a _billion_ times better. His hands dropped to squeeze and grope at Jack’s ass with a happy hum. “Love you so much. Gonna take care of you.” He kissed the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Gonna make you feel _amazing._ Give you what you want until we get all sticky up here.” He chuckled a bit at his own words.

Grasping for the lube again, Mark squeezed a fresh amount onto his fingers. He let the slick liquid coat the digits as he rubbed them together to make sure it wasn't cold while his free hand kept a firm, possessive grip on Jack’s ass.

Then he was curving his hand to dip back between Jack’s cheeks; the other pulling them slightly apart. He let his fingertip rub teasingly over Jack’s hole for a second before pushing straight in and Mark tried to pick up where he'd left off. In and out; fingering Jack’s ass like it was nothing, like it was just a kiss. If he thought about it like that, it was easier. If Mark focused on Jack’s expressions while he covered every inch of flushed skin he could reach with kisses, he didn't need to understand. Jack _loved_ it, and he loved Mark. Hesitantly, he bumped a second finger at the tight ring of muscle. “You.. you gotta tell me what you're ready for- what you need, okay?? And… and you can move. It's okay. I want… god, I’d really love if you rolled your hips again for me….”

Jack moaned and wiggled on top of him. He panted, tipping his head. “I, mm, I can...another. Just...be slow. Need to adjust to two…” He smiled, ducking his head to kiss at Mark's lips. “If you can...get it in, then hold still, and I'll move at first.”

The wiggling was enough to satisfy Mark. He echoed Jack’s moan with a slightly softer one and eagerly fell upon the stretch of skin Jack offered him, attacking Jack’s neck with teeth and tongue. There were at least two new hickies there by the time Jack interrupted to snatch another kiss and Mark licked into Jack’s mouth with that same content hum before they pulled away. Like this, with Jack wiggling in his lap and kissing him breathless, it was easy to forget what his fingers were doing; where they were. Still, Mark had to put forth a little concentration to try and worm in a second.

He huffed and let his forehead rest against Jack’s shoulder. “So tight…. Think I need more lube. How do you make it look so easy??” He grudgingly released Jack’s ass to grab up the bottle again. He squeezed some directly down into Jack's spread crack; tracing his collar bone with apologetic kisses in case it was too cold because Mark didn't want to break the moment again.

“Okay… okay, here we go…. I think it's going in… _fuck…_ it’s like your ass is trying to swallow my fingers, Jack. What the hell…” Mark gasped, awed, as his middle finger slid in to join the first and he immediately halted his movements. Panting heavily, Mark waited for Jack to move. He nibbled at his lover’s reddened chest in the meantime, tongue laving teasingly over hardened nipples.

“Practice,” Jack gasped, sagging against Mark's shoulder with a hearty groan and panting wetly against Mark's skin. “Lots and lots of practice, more practice than I've shown you...but mm, much nicer to be _held_ at the same time…”

Little cries were punched out of Jack’s mouth with every caress of Mark's tongue, and soon Jack was rocking against Mark's fingers. He moved slowly at first, flexing his thighs to lift himself up and push forward against Mark's bulge, then back, over and over, each roll of his hips easier and faster than the last.

“Ha, see? I'm a genius. Just admit it.” Mark grinned up at Jack, but it was soon lost to several low moans. Jack might have been getting off more than Mark at the moment, but every grind against his groin was pure heaven and it was enough. Especially if he got to hear Jack cry out; got to put his mouth on Jack’s skin. Mark patiently waited for Jack’s go-ahead before sinking his teeth deep into the meat of Jack’s shoulder. He clenched his jaw to leave more of a bite mark than a hickey while his fingers went to work.

“Okay, okay…” Jack was still clutching at Mark's shoulders. “You can...You can start moving again…” He gave another roll against Mark's bulge, groaning.

In and out, in and out; just like his breathing exercises. That wasn't so hard. There wasn't anything scary about it. Jack was more threatened than Mark by a mile and he seemed just fine. Emboldened, Mark tried to remember the things he'd seen Jack do on camera.

Having let go of Jack’s shoulder with another soothing lick, Mark crooked his fingers. He'd seen Jack try that a lot with varying success. Maybe a different angle coupled with someone else’s fingers would do the trick? Mark tried it a few times on his thrusts in, twisting his wrist a couple degrees between entries. He wiggled his digits to scissor at Jack’s tight inner walls and then curled his fingers again. His other hand was clutching at Jack’s hip in a bruising grip. “I have… no idea… what I'm looking for. Or where. _Jack._ ” There was a hint of a whine in his throat. Okay, so Mark _knew_ about the prostate and its role, but he hardly knew where to begin _looking._ With just his _fingers._

Said fingers drew new flavors of soft moans and whimpers from Jack. He dug his nails in and nuzzled at Mark's hair. “It's, it's, _ah_ , forward, like do a ‘come here’ with your fingers and up more… You'll...You'll know when you find it…”

“Okay… so I gotta ‘come hither’ your prostate. I'd say that's an innuendo but it's literally just sex…” Mark tipped his head up to whisper sultrily into Jack’s ear, grinning. “...and I'm already _in-your-endo._ Huhuhuh.”

Mark giggled and kissed affectionately at Jack’s ear, then pressed his body closer to Jack as if it would help drive his fingers deeper. He had a pensive, serious look on his face; the kind of expression he got when trying to work out a puzzle in a video game. He bit at his lip and gestured as Jack suggested. Good response from Jack, but not quite. Grunting, Mark dug further; knuckles almost sinking in with his fingers while he curled them as much as Jack’s muscles would allow. He pressed with his two fingertips and then jolted like a spooked deer when an abrupt scream tore itself from Jack. His heart leaped into his throat and it was only shock that stopped him from ripping his fingers out.

Jack clenched around Mark, inside and out, clinging hard. “ _Oh god!_ ” He stared at Mark, and shoved down hard against Mark’s fingers. “There, _there_ , right there, do that again Mark, please, fuck, fuck me _please_ Mark…” He rocked his hips, trying to drive Mark’s fingers back, to press them against that hidden spot. “ _Maaark!_ ”

Mark sputtered, heart still hammering away in his chest, as Jack drove himself down on his fingers with a purpose. He was bombarded with Jack’s desperate, pleading cries and while still a bit shell-shocked, his erection was certainly reacting. Jack had shouted and begged for him _many_ times in the past but never like this.

Even _Mark_ hadn't begged like this when drugged out of his wits. (Then again, they never tried hitting his prostate.) He could still remove his fingers at any time; shove Jack away despite the clinging. He was strong enough. No matter how needy or grabby Jack got, Mark would always be strong enough. Unlike in that room, where he _never_ was. Still, he felt a little helpless as Jack bounced into his hand like an Energizer bunny on steroids. His fingers were slipping in and out one way or another so he obliged. Mark crooked his fingers again- in the same spot that was almost impossible to reach- and pressed _hard._ Jack’s constant movement practically _rubbed_ Mark’s fingers against his prostate and it was all Mark could do to hang on for the ride. (Ironic, considering in their current position it would be Jack doing the “riding”.) He stared with eyes slightly wide and mouth agape.

Jack fucked himself against Mark’s fingers, pressing his mouth to every inch of Mark’s skin he could reach in sloppy, wet kisses. “Mark, _unh,_ so good… can take more… please Mark, please…” He dragged a hand away from Mark’s shoulder and down, dropping it to one of Mark’s hard nipples to pull and tease.

It dragged Mark out of his zoned state with another jolt and a pleasured yip while his back arched automatically into Jack’s fingers. Dragging nails harshly down the slope of Jack’s thigh, he rammed his fingers in a bit harder on Jack’s next push. “K-keep touching me like that, and… you won’t have to ask twice….” Mark groaned, letting his head fall back against the bed frame and exposing his neck for Jack.

The skin there was a light bronze spotted red with Mark’s arousal and trickling sweat. Scars, from the collar which had once been inseparable from his throat and the blades of his tormentors, popped out with every ragged breath he drew. Mark was sure if Jack touched him there he would feel how Mark’s pulse was thrumming through his veins like the speedy beat of a hummingbird’s wings. It felt like one was trapped in his chest as he groped blindly for the lube again. Finding it, Mark squeezed some more down onto Jack’s ass and his fingers; liberally coating it all. He _knew_ what not enough lube felt like and he would be _damned_ if he let Jack suffer that even a little bit. Squeezing his ring finger in alongside the other two, Mark began the process of wiggling it _inside_ Jack; stretching him wider with every thrust of his fingers while they continued brushing against his prostate, over and over. His other hand returned to Jack’s ass cheek with a generous squeeze. “...s-so tight… too tight, Jack, dunno if I can… god….”

Jack babbled wordlessly against Mark’s throat, not even slowing down as Mark worked a third finger in. He lapped at Mark’s skin and scars, rolling the nipple between his fingers as he rocked between Mark’s fingers and his bulge. His own dick was rock hard against Mark’s stomach, leaking more precum with every thrust of Mark’s hand.

Mark wasn’t really sparing thoughts for the fact he was fingering Jack anymore beyond just how _tight_ it was. That was a constant in his mind and he did wonder, fleetingly, how such pressure would feel on his dick. However, Jack at the very least was already too close. Mark wasn’t all that far behind and knowing everything he’d have to do if he wanted his dick inside Jack was not making him anymore inclined towards the idea. Not when Jack was in his lap already, grinding down against him and lavishing his skin with oral affections. They had _time_ now. Mark could sate his curiosity whenever Jack’s ass had recovered enough. Right now, there would be no consequences for them both to cum just like this, wrapped up in each other and drowning in their respective sources of pleasure.

Mark discarded the idea of “getting his dick wet” this time around and just kept fucking Jack with his fingers. He’d gotten a rhythm down now and could thrust the digits in tandem with Jack’s rolling hips. It let him strike deep and hard; fingers curling and stretching as if they _were_ still preparing Jack for more. Mark bucked up with his hips- once, twice, driving his hidden erection up past Jack’s balls and along the underside of his leaking dick. Unsatisfied, Mark released Jack’s ass and gripped at the appendage instead, squeezing and roughly fisting his boyfriend’s cock just to hear Jack moan again. Just to feel his body spasm and twitch in his arms while he cried out Mark’s name. He kissed tenderly at the side of Jack’s head and wetted his lips. “C’mon, Sean. C’mon. You can do it. It’s okay. You can do it, Sean, I’m right here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Jack gasped most of Mark’s name, driving harder into Mark’s hand. He pressed his mouth against Mark’s shoulder, biting into the muscle as he let himself go, shoving back on Mark’s fingers one more time and then into the circle of his hand. His cry of pleasure was mixed with a sob and muffled against Mark’s skin as he came _hard_ , his cum splattering across Mark’s stomach.

“ _Hngh,_ oh fuck…” Mark was _not_ expecting the bite. Nor the splash of warm, sticky fluid on his skin. He really should have at least seen the latter coming. (Haha, literally.) His fingers stilled in Jack but stayed inside him until his body fell limp and heavy against Mark’s chest. Only then did he let them slide out with a lewd squelching sound.

Jack grinned up at Mark, his eyes heavy. He was barely keeping up with Mark’s breathing, their chests rising and falling in tandem. _I love you,_ he mouthed back.

Mark wiggled his other hand out from between their pressed bodies and quickly located Jack’s boxers again to wipe off his hands. His stomach was a lost cause so long as Jack remained flopped against him but Mark couldn’t find it in himself to be disgruntled. Jack had the most blissed out, dopey expression on his face; the biggest smile. Every last ounce of tension had been expelled from Jack’s body and he was _beautiful._ Mark ignored the sting in his shoulder, the mess dripping down his abs and his own stuttering breaths. He kissed at Jack’s hair, hands gliding up and down the curve of Jack’s back and he was still rock hard in his boxers. He swallowed down a needy whimper. “Jack… Jack, I love you, you were so amazing…. I.. kind of need you off, though. I’m… please?”

Jack mouthed a few more kisses over Mark’s shoulder, licking at the spot where he’d bitten. With a grunt, Jack belatedly pushed with one arm and flopped over to the side, sprawling beside Mark. He was still largely boneless, but he dropped one arm across Mark’s sticky belly, his head finding a pillow on one of Mark’s pecs. “Yer gorgeous,” he murmured, looking down at the bulge in Mark’s boxers.

 _“Jack….”_ Mark really, _really_ needed to cum and Jack’s affectionate little gestures weren’t helping any. He’d never seen Jack act so loopy after an orgasm. Sleepy and spent, yes, but this was akin to the few times he’d seen Jack tipsy (or completely sloshed). He was barely able to roll off Mark’s lap on his own power and Mark had to wonder if Jack had even understood everything he said; seeing as he didn’t really _reply,_ just acted, and then proceeded to compliment him with his hand sitting in his own spunk. Incredible.

“Jack, you’re sex-drunk.” Mark glanced between Jack’s eyes and where they were obviously looking several times. There was nothing but adoration and love in those baby blues but still Mark felt a tiny spark of anxiety. Mainly because he wanted to touch himself, _badly,_ but Jack was staring at his dick- a lot. Indefinitely, really, and Mark squirmed a little.

“‘M Irish,” Jack slurred, rubbing his cheek against Mark’s chest. “Can’ ge’ drunk…” He giggled adorably.

“Bullshit.” Mark called him on the lie but there was no heat to it. Not when he was trying to get off in the most low key way imaginable while being watched by his punchdrunk boyfriend. It was a doomed endeavor from the very start. Turning his head, Mark buried his face in Jack’s hair and pressed the heel of his palm to his bulge. He _had_ to. If he went one second longer without some kind of physical contact he was going to _die._ Still, he could feel Jack’s eyes on him, and Mark bit at his lip so hard he worried it might start bleeding. He shifted his hand ever-so-slightly for a subtle friction but this wasn’t like the Skype calls. Jack was _right there._ He whined; high pitched from the back of his nose. “ _Jack.._ Jack… please….”

Jack pressed his fingers against Mark’s crooked knuckles, rubbing gently before slipping between Mark’s fingers to press against the bulge in his boxers. He’d done this before, touched Mark’s dick. “Feel good?” Jack asked, pushing his fingers up and down Mark’s shaft, just an inch, small, shallow little rubs. “Wan’ me t’do this?”

Mark gasped; quick and shallow against Jack’s hair. His hand twitched, and then his hips, and Mark almost bit at Jack’s scalp to hide a whine because it was the only thing immediately available. He gave a full body shudder instead while his hips started popping up against Jack’s hand all on their own. Finally, _finally_ his erection was getting direct attention.

He whimpered and rolled; sticky abdomen flexing with the motion as his toes curled further down the bed. Mark bit at his lip, nodded, then shook his head. Fumbling, he grabbed shakily at Jack’s wrist. “M- _mnn,_ here… h-here….” Mark’s breathy _“please”_ was inaudible against Jack’s hair as he manually directed Jack’s hand to his waistband. He wiggled and pushed but wasn’t very successful in dipping pale fingers beneath it. Mark knew he probably sounded like a dog in heat when he whined again but he _needed more._ He’d neglected his dick for too long and it practically _ached_ with the need to be touched. His free hand sunk its fingers into the sheets and clutched at them without mercy. _“Jack….”_

Jack giggled, worming his hand beneath Mark’s boxers. His fingers scratched lightly through Mark’s pubes, questing deeper to find the base of his erection. He wrapped his hand around it one finger at a time, slowly stroking up to the head.

 _“Ah, ah, f- fu… Jack….”_ Mark’s voice had lost all of its deep and sultry qualities. He’d become as desperate and eager as Jack was just a few minutes ago now that he could focus on himself without any distractions his erection was making its presence more than known. Having actual, skin-on-skin contact with his dick again for the first time in _ages_ felt euphoric.

Jack pressed his fingertips against the throbbing vein that ran along Mark’s shaft, then traced over the flare of his head and up to rub over his slit, sticky with precum.

Mark’s hips rose with that first slow stroke at the exact same pace. His back arched while his mouth dropped open with a silent cry; brown eyes wide. He was hypersensitive. He could feel _everything_ and none of it was bad- not even over the tender spots, where he had scars. Every brush of Jack’s fingertips or squeeze along his palm set the skin there on fire. Mark didn’t- _couldn’t-_ hesitate to buck his hips. He rolled them up to slide his dick through Jack’s hand; movements feverish. His hands scrabbled at the bed briefly before locating Jack beside him still and they instantly gripped wherever they landed first; Jack’s arm, his upper side. Mark clutched at Jack and tipped sideways to burrow into his boyfriend where it was safe and stable and the norm. Much as he enjoyed Jack’s attentions they were _new_ and imprinted as dangerous in his brain and just a little bit overwhelming. Like with most aspects of their sexual relationship: Mark wanted it, but he was scared.

Jack wrapped his free arm around Mark’s back and lifted his chin over Mark’s hair. “I gotcha, I gotcha,” he murmured, holding Mark safely as he kept sliding his hand over Mark’s cock. “I gotcha, Mark, I’m here. I’m here. I love you. I’m here. It’s just me. Just me and you and _our_ bed in _our_ room in _our_ house…” Jack pressed his hand over the scar on Mark’s back as he picked up his pace in Mark’s boxers, stroking him a little harder. “It’s okay. It’s all good. I’m right here. Enjoy this, Mark. _Enjoy_ your body…”

Mark shuddered out a sigh, but he felt better. He _always_ felt better with Jack’s arms around him. Adorable as sex-drunk Jack was, Mark really appreciated having the level-headed version of his boyfriend back- just for now, when he needed him. He let his eyes fall closed and focused on the sounds: Jack’s words, his heartbeat, the light hiss of his breaths. Jack’s usual scent was amplified and Mark could only guess it was because of his orgasm, because of what they’d just done. Mark was getting better at closing his eyes around Jack, now. He knew all the little sensory tells which were purely _Jack_ and right now, Jack was pumping his dick; coaxing him to his own orgasm. No one else. He’d know if it was _anyone_ else.

Only Jack touched his scar so tenderly. Mark muffled a whimper into Jack’s shoulder as his hip movement became more sporadic. Jack was tugging at him faster and it was difficult for his brain to keep up. All he knew was _Jack;_ Jack and his dick and the precum dribbling down his shaft beneath Jack’s calloused fingers. He panted, hot and wet, over Jack’s skin alongside a low vibration of moans whenever Jack would stroke _just right._ Fingernails digging into Jack, Mark thrust up into his hand with a growing reckless abandon. “Jack, Jack, Jack, _Jack please,_ please, I can’t, ‘m so close, ‘m gonna.. gonna.. _fuck,_ harder, please… faster…!”

Jack jerked his hand faster, tugging at Mark’s dick. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful like this, Mark, so beautiful in my arms, crying my name. I love you, god, I love you so much. I want you to come apart, come apart for me, Mark, let me catch you…”

 _“Jack!”_ Mark didn’t wail like Jack had, but he was close to it. Physically, Jack was driving him over the edge with his hands but emotionally, Mark was long gone in the wake of Jack’s words. Where Jack had craved more of the former, Mark wanted to relish the latter. He wanted to drown in Jack’s words the way Jack had in his pleasure. Mark wanted to be held and reassured and coaxed through to the end by hands and a voice he trusted. Jack was giving him all that and more. Mark knew, then and there, that what he’d missed most about physical sessions with Jack wasn’t the kisses or touches or enticing intimacy which could only occur between two people. Mark could have gone without all of that and still felt satisfied.

He just wanted to feel Jack’s love without the barrier of a screen or text or a blind phone call. Jack was feeding him all of it in spades and Mark knew he couldn’t last any longer. He didn’t _want_ to. With a few more heady murmurs of Jack’s name, including a slip or two of his real one, Mark rolled up into his orgasm. He muffled his sob- not out of upset, but sheer emotion- with Jack’s skin; biting into his shoulder to mimic Jack’s earlier reflex. But he bit _harder_. Mark barely stopped himself from going overboard and likely drawing blood. Instead, he dug in his fingernails and let Jack stroke him through his orgasm with every jerk of his hips. His chest heaved, his shoulders shook and his toes curled hard enough to crack before he was slumping against Jack with all the coordination of a newborn giraffe.

Jack huffed softly against Mark’s hair. He stroked Mark until his spasms stopped, and then he uncurled his hand before Mark got too overstimulated. Mark was breathing against his skin, heavy and loose. “I love you,” Jack whispered, smoothing his hand over Mark’s thigh inside his boxers. “So, _so_ much. I missed you. But you’re home now. You’re _home_.”

Mark shivered but it was only from good things. Jack’s breath in his hair, Jack’s hand stroking his skin, Jack’s arm still tucked warm and close around him. He relaxed further with a little sigh until he was practically laying on top of Jack instead of the other way around. It didn’t matter that Jack’s cum was drying where it had smeared onto his stomach or that his own was still hot and sticky in his boxers. Jack was right. He was home. _They_ were home; together. And that would never change.

He nuzzled into the bruises he’d scattered across Jack’s collar bone with eyes still closed. He didn’t need them open anymore to see Jack. “Love you… love you a lot… love you more than _all the things,_ Jack. Even space. Love you more’an space and video games and vlogging and Ch… okay, not Chica, but all the other things. Love you. Missed you. Missed home…” When Mark smiled, it was without a trace of force or anxiety. “I’m home….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!! For real this time. That's a wrap. It's all over, folks. Thanks for coming!...
> 
> ...and reading, and commenting, and kudosing, and bookmarking and... you get the idea. It's been a long ride. Like Fantismal mentions in Gold, we basically started this mess alllll the way back on August 22, 2016. That's almost a whole year. Now note the fact we started posting this baby around Christmas, and that shows you just how crazy we went with writing over... four months? Just about? The other six have been spent posting the finished chapters. XD
> 
> It was a lot of work. But also a lot of fun! Fantismal is amazing, a fantastic author I never thought I'd even have the chance to talk to, let alone work with. She's an amazing person too and I was so happy I got to meet her on top of everything. Boy, the discussions we had about these two in person... we're nerds, everybody. Through and through. Anyway, I want to thank her so much for giving me this wonderful opportunity. And I want to thank Eltrkbarbarella for all of her inspiration, opinions, advice and just general support. She was our much needed "third wheel of evil" and I still have her artwork on my phone to this day. uwu
> 
> Thank you again, so much, for reading and letting us know your opinions on this crazy tale! It was simply a joy to write, but knowing it brought so many others joy- and even solace- was a true blessing. I hope the ending was everything you hoped for, and leaves you satisfied.
> 
> ...what? It doesn't? D: Well, we can't have that! To take it from Fantismal, who explained it far better than I ever could:
> 
> Consider these "Behind the Scenes." They are unpolished and unfinished snippets. Some of the snippets themselves aren't finished. They will never be polished or finished...but maybe they'll let you see what a mess our minds were during the creation of this world.
> 
> Each of the following links will take you to a different Google Document. You should be able to view and leave comments (please leave comments! You can leave comments on specific sections, even!), but you won't be able to make any changes. We have left these exactly as we wrote them, so you'll get to see our comments, our bad formatting, our mistakes...and our ideas. So, without further ado, here are over 500 more pages inspired by Kintsugi.
> 
> [Canon Kintsugi Scenes that did not make the final cut](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1j6_WHl4L-3KsRJjrGvGK6UL_GeHJMpLIhfAEpRYamt4/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> [Non-Canon Kintsugi Scenes in which the story spun off in an interesting direction](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BHr_aalsF4L8TJxFjYm8BrIWs2iAeuZ6_L_vFYDnE6I/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> [Horror AU Scenes in which the Ship Sinker did things differently](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1M7vwKyHGo_izWBU6NofpLL58jW7zxymM1U3yFIuuEww/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> [Not-Horror AU Scenes inspired by/roughly sort of kind of set in the Kintsugi verse](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cnmtn7BQweCPPeITEKXcSSNeFPH6qol4Wyg83TNLQ0Q/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!! And thank you! :D


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